A Host of Golden Daffodils
by I love music
Summary: Complete: Follow-up to Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall. Scorpius has a second play-date with Rose, Albus,James,Hugo and Lily.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Follow-up to _Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall._ Anyone who's read that will know it's written just for fun. I was only ever going to write one-shots in future, but never mind. This is just the intro. I should have the next chapter up perhaps tomorrow or Sunday when I've edited. After that, I've no idea how frequent the updates will be. I don't intend the fic to be very long, however. Hope you find it amusing. :D

 *****chapter 1*****

 *****Intro*****

 *****Return of the Play-Daters*****

 _I wandered lonely as a cloud **  
**That floats on high o'er vales and hills, **  
**When all at once I saw a crowd, **  
**A host, of golden daffodils; **  
**Beside the lake, beneath the trees, **  
**Fluttering and dancing in the breeze._

Of recent times, it was probably the most terrifying day of Draco's life. His life was divided into two phases, you see: BBH and ABH. Before the Battle of Hogwarts and After the Battle of Hogwarts. BBH had been a terrible time of war and death. ABH settled into some sort of normality. He couldn't say _definite_ normality – oh, no, that went right out of the window after Scorpius was born.

He'd been pinning his hopes on things improving as his son got older but this proved to be a forlorn hope. As Scorpius got older, things got worse. Much, much worse. There was no longer any logic left in the world. Perhaps there never had been. Perhaps they – grown-up witches and wizards - had always been wrong about everything and they – little witches and wizards – had always been right. The moon might really be made of cheese, ice, coconut, glass, biscuits or even apple pie, like they claimed. Perhaps it _was_ possible to hop backwards from Wiltshire, England, UK to Detroit, Michigan, USA if you were allowed to use a broomstick to cross the Atlantic Ocean. No, that wasn't cheating, but if you really, really, _really_ wanted to hop all the way you could always hop backwards on to one of those muggle aeroplane things – oh, you could just borrow Dad's invisibility cloak if the muggles objected to you not wearing a seat-belt – and hop backwards off again until you...well, you'd have a big breakfast before you left England so you wouldn't get hungry...okay, okay, you're allowed to stop for lunch as long as you keep standing on one leg and…

Oh, dear Godric, they hadn't even arrived yet and already he was being brain-zapped by their previous debates. Their powers were great. Why, why, why did it have to be today that Astoria went into hospital? Her admission wasn't anything at all to worry about – it was simply felt a short period of rest was needed – and the upside was, being a Healer, he had been given full access to one of St Mungo's staff recreation family chalets for the day. This had two pluses: one, he didn't have to try and fit the little witches and wizards into the two-up, two-down Malfoy muggle home; two, he was as close to Astoria as it was possible to be. The downside was, Astoria was not here to save his sanity…

Our reluctant hero paced the garden and ran his fingers through his hair for the thousandth time that day. He would willingly have postponed the return play-date except Scorpius had been so crestfallen – nay, heartbroken - at the very idea and he couldn't bear to disappoint Scorpius.

The sudden crack of Apparation snapped him out of his musings and alerted him to the fact the dreaded moment was here. The scarily grinning face of Ron Weasley materialised together with a deliriously happy Hermione Granger-Weasley. And, oh, God, their offspring were already striding on ahead!

Eldest Granger obviously had something important to discuss to judge by her determined expression while Mad Professor was for some reason staring fixedly at the top of his host's head. A split second later another ominous crack heralded the arrival of the Potter-Weasley clan. Like the previous two Gryffindors, Harry Potter and Ginny Potter _nee_ Weasley looked positively ecstatic. Small wonder. They were getting rid of their kids for the day. A whole wonderful, wonderful, stress-free, delightful day.

Two little Potters and a little Potteress immediately whirled free from their landing place and made a beeline for him. From the excited squealing coming from somewhere behind him, he deduced that Scorpius had returned from the play-broom area. This was further confirmed by a small blond child that closely resembled the youngest Malfoy running in frantic circles around the group while chanting some kind of war cry. "Wa-heyyy! Rose! Alb! James! Lils! Hugo! Wa-hey! Wa-hey, heyyy!"

The Gryffindors of course expressed due concern for the Slytherin's welfare.

"It's lucky that you're great with kids, Draco!"

"They haven't stopped talking about you since Scorpius's play-date!"

"Have a fun day, guys, I'm sure you all will!"

"Thank you sooo much!"

They were gone in a flash before he could change his mind. And then he was alone. All alone. With _Them..._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Many thanks to **nobodysperfect2133** for your lovely review and for adding this fic to Alerts.

 *****chapter 2*****

 *****A Backwards Step*****

Draco eyed his charges warily. The young witches and wizard eyed their care-giver back with great interest. They had reached a polite halt – even Scorpius had paused in his war cries to hold hands with the bushy-haired Granger-Weasley product. As the crack of apparition faded, the six eagerly took a step forward. Draco took two steps backwards. The scary ones eyed him with even more interest and took another step forward. Running his fingers nervously through his hair, Draco took a further two steps backwards.

"What are we going to _play_ , Mr Mallyfly?" the little blonde-haired witch delivered the first threat.

"Walking backwards, I think." Eldest Mini-Potter _aka J_ ames Potter supplied.

"Oh, cool! We didn't finish hopping backwards to America!" Potter the Younger, _aka_ Albus Potter, breezily glossed over the fact they had never even begun the journey.

"And I have to have chips this time. I didn't get anything to eat my last go," Scorpius added.

"Yes, you did! You got cheeseburger and fries at the airport," Eldest Granger _aka_ Rose Granger-Weasley objected.

"Yeah, but I didn't have _time_ to eat it all because my plane was going and I had to hop backwards to catch it."

They were off. Barely seconds into the return play-date and already they were galloping off into Weird World. A heated debate was evolving among the four older of the scary beings on the merits or otherwise of eating cheeseburger and fries while walking backwards to the USA. Eldest Granger maintained a light, healthy snack would have been preferable. Potter the Younger thought chicken nuggets would have made a better choice. Eldest Potter insisted Scorpius needed a filling meal even if it made him sick once he was airborne. Scorpius claimed he was not sick because he'd washed what little he managed to eat down with three large bottles of Veritaserum.

"That's a truth potion, you nincompoop!" Rose had never forgotten her mentor's introducing her to the fascinating word and used it at every opportunity.

"No, it's not. it's only a truth potion if you're walking frontwards. It doesn't count if you're walking backwards.."

Eldest Granger rolled her eyes. "Scorpius, _everybody_ walks frontwards."

Being the father of Scorpius and therefore also being a frequent helpless victim in his conversations, Draco knew exactly how she felt and sympathised..

"No, they don't," Scorpius argued. "They probably don't walk frontwards on Mars. They probably walk backwards there."

"Or sideways. If they're crab creatures," James chipped in.

"Do you think;" Albus the Ponderer liked to mull over weighty matters. "Everybody in America is walking backwards now? Because they saw us and thought it was a good idea?"

Draco seized his chance and took another two steps backwards. But it was too late! He'd foolishly allowed himself to become distracted and let his guard down. The youngest witch and wizard were now at either side. Dangerously close to the robe sleeves they liked to swing on.

Youngest Weasley was already tugging determinedly on his left sleeve.

"What are we going to _play,_ Mr Mallyfly?" the little blonde witch repeated, tugging on his right sleeve to remind him escape was futile.

Ah, wait! Didn't the muggles have a saying? If you can't beat _Them_ , join _Them_ _._ What was one more insane wizard amid all he insanity?

"We will," he announced confidently, bravely meeting the gaze of the blonde Potterette ; "be playing Walking Backwards."

"Dancing," she corrected. "Dancing Backwards."

"I don't think..." The ex-Death Eater however was immediately silenced by the severity of Lily's glare. Time to call in the troops.

"Lieutenant!" He yelled desperately.

Rose broke off from Weird World's argument to swivel round. "Yeah?"

"We're...um...going to play Dancing Backwards."

His trusty second-in-command could be relied upon to never crack under pressure. She nodded and immediately joined him on the front line, hands fisted on hips, looking ready to handle any mutiny in the ranks. Fortunately. It was that moment Hugo the Most Powerful issued his decree.

"My Friend's Dad, I want you to spell my hair messy like yours."

"Can't be done, Hugo," Lieutenant Granger concluded, after a quick up-and-then-down assessment of both their heads.

Draco smugly smoothed a hand over his white-blond locks. "It takes much more than magic, you see. It takes years of practice to gel hair to this perfection."

"Oh, no, it's not that. Your hair's a terrible mess but Hugo's is a lot messier though he hasn't been pulling at it like you've been doing ever since we got here." The witch whom he'd confidently predicted had a great future in Slytherin did little now to dissuade that conviction. "So Hu has messier hair anyway."

Hugo nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I want my My Friend's Dad to spell my hair messier like his,"

Rose blinked. "Hugo, I just explained your hair is messiest."

"Nope." Albus, together with Scorpius and James, had strolled across, and, as Draco was beginning to think must be the prerogative of all very young witches and wizards, whether invited to or no, kindly offered their opinions. "You said Mr Malfoy had messier hair. I heard you say _you has messier hair_ _anyway_ _."_

"No, I said _Hu_ had messier hair," Rose protested.

Scorpius frowned. "Albus's hair isn't messy. Well, okay, it is a bit but not as messy as my Dad's."

"I think Rose meant _Hu_ had messier hair," James clarified.

"My hair isn't messy," Scorpius objected. "I combed it last week,"

"Huuu- _go!"_ Rose yelled. "Huuu- _GO!"_

"Why?" Scorpius asked, wide-eyed and a not a little hurt by his best friend's sudden instructions to leave. "I didn't do nothin'."

"I didn't do _any_ thing," Rose corrected.

"Yes, you did, though, Rose!" James wanted to see fair play. "You started it. Ask Scorpius's Dad."

"I think my Dad's busy," Scorpius whispered.

The children followed his gaze. Draco sat leaning against the chalet wall, pulling even more frantically at his hair and muttering to himself. Hugo stood close by, mussing up his own wild, bushy hair and looking proud of himself. "My Friend's Dad is making his hair more messy for when he does the spell and I'm messing up my hair as well to help."

"Where's Lily?" Albus suddenly asked.

Draco snapped out of his reverie and jumped to his feet. "Oh, sweet Circe! Don't tell me I've lost her!"

"Yeah, you've lost Lily, Da..." Scorpius sucked in a breath as Albus elbowed him in the ribs. "Mr Malfoy said not to tell him, dope!"

Draco looked appealingly at his miniature friends in the hope of answers. "Now listen very, very carefully. Have any of you seen Lily?"

Scorpius smiled broadly. He loved these games. "Can't tell you that, Dad."

"I saw her yesterday," Hugo said importantly.

"Ssshhh!" Albus hissed.

"No, it's okay, it doesn't count," James advised. "It's only today we can't say."

"Oh, right! I saw her yesterday as well." Albus revealed. "At Nanny Molly's."

"I saw her on my last play-date!" Scorpius happily volunteered.

"Has ANYONE here seen Lily in the last TWO MINUTES?" Draco shouted through clenched teeth, pacing agitatedly and pulling his hair so hard it hurt.

"Not telling you, Dad!" Scorpius said brightly.

"Top secret, Mr Malfoy!" James tapped his nose to indicate he could be trusted.

Draco paused momentarily in his agitated pacing and hair-disturbing. " _W_ _hen_ will you stop doing that?" He turned to Hugo, who was pacing behind him and pulling at his own hair.

Hugo paused too and considered. "I don't know. I think I'll prob'ly stop when I'm asleep 'cos I won't know I've stopped when I'm asleep. I might stop when I grow up as well 'cos my hair might be messy enough when I grow up. I think I might have to stop when I'm eating 'cos..."

The stressed-out Slytherin left him to his monologue. "Eldest Granger," he called. "Eldest Granger, HELP!"

"Rose isn't here," Albus said. "Oh, wait!" He looked at James, keen to establish the rules of the game. "Are we allowed to tell Scorpius's Dad that?"

"Up here, Mr Malfoy!" Thankfully, the reassuring voice of Rose Granger-Weasley floated from above. She and the little blonde witch sat on the branch of a tree. _And_ that damn owl of hers, which had featured so prominently in Scorpius's last play-date.

"What the hell are you all doing up there?"

"Trimblefeathers helped her up and I climbed up after her to make sure she was okay," Rose explained.

The owl hooted. As nobody understood hoots, his reason for being up a tree must remain forever a mystery.

"I'm having a Sulk, a Tantrum, a Cry _and_ I'm Not Going to Eat My Dinner," Lily replied petulantly.

"Yes, well, can you come down now?"

"I'm busy!" Lily snapped, folding her arms, almost losing her balance and being caught by Rose just in time. "I'm having a Sulk, then a Tantrum, then a..".

"Please!" Draco had no Malfoy pride anymore. This lot had stolen it from him long ago. "Whatever the cause of this acute melancholia, surely we may better reach a resolution to the dilemma if we were on _terra firma."_

Lily stared at him blankly for a second, then recovered admirably. " _And_ I'm going to Have a Scream _and_ I'm going to Hold My Breath _and_..."

"It's because she wanted to play dancing backwards," Rose sighed.

"And you forgot!" Lily accused.

"I did not forget! I'm dancing backwards now! Look, look!" The desperate Slytherin raised his arms high above his head, locked his fingers together and tap-footed with difficulty backwards. It was a most noble gesture and a most ignoble finish. Never, never, in all the history of the Malfoys, had any member of this ancient and elegant family, noted in particular for their graceful poise, danced backwards into thick mud.

He was vaguely aware, as he sank back into its slimy iciness, that, from their whoops of joy, every single child had done the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _For your kind and much appreciated Reviews, thank you to:-_

 ** **nobodysperfect2133****

 ** **Guest 1****

 ** **Guest 2****

 ** _Re Astoria being in hospital, all I'm going to say on that subject is, think outside the box! ;D_**

 *****chapter 3*****

 *****Much Ado About Nothing*****

With a heavy sigh, Draco performed a cleaning spell on the last of the six children. "For future reference," he growled. "Could you all please note doing back flips into mud is NOT a prerequisite step in Dancing Backwards. Furthermore, we have FINISHED playing Dancing Backwards."

Lily, the last in line, tossed back her long blonde hair, disappointed that all the mud had gone from it now. Scorpius's father was great fun. Most grown-ups wouldn't show you how to dive in mud like that. But it was time to move on now to greater things. "I'm a wand that can spin!" She announced, beginning to twirl round in circles.

Her mentor deemed it prudent not to enquire further into the reasoning behind the random statement. He was exhausted from his care-giving duties already and badly needed a break. And he was going to get one.

"What are we going to play next, Mr Malfoy?" Albus asked eagerly.

"For a short while," the lanky wizard declared authoritatively, "we are going to play nothing. And nobody is going to be anything".

"Oh, cool! Can I be the Nobody?" Scorpius asked, his silver-grey eyes sparkling with excitement.

His proud pater frowned. "Scorpius, you are most certainly NOT, and never have been, a nobody."

"Awww, but, Dad..."

"No, me, me!" For some reason Draco couldn't fathom, the wild-haired youngest Granger was jumping on the spot and waving his hand in the air. This lot had a habit of doing that and it was most unnerving. "I want to be the Nobody!"

"No, I bags being Nobody, and I'm oldest!" James staked his claim.

"Yes, well, Eldest Potter, unlike the glorious name of Malfoy, a Potter _may_ be a nobody, but..."

To the Slytherin's bemusement, James raised both fists in a gesture of triumph and cheered himself on with sing-song chant. "Yessss! I am Nobody! I am Nobody! I am Nobody!"

Albus pouted, stung by his brother's display of non-brotherly love. "That's not fair! James gets to be Anything and I can't even be... " He looked around, and being an artist at heart, like a true artist sought and found inspiration from nature "...a big tree like that one over there, or that cloud up there that looks like a shoe, or that leaf over there..." He indicated the branch in question for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, and, although nobody was, kindly specified which particular leaf had been chosen lest there be any lingering doubts; "the one next to the end but not the baby one, that's too small."

" _I'm_ a wand that can spin," Lily said smugly, pausing from her twirling to catch a breath.

"I want to be the garden gate," Hugo decided, after giving it careful thought. "And I say who can come in and who can't come in."

"You can't be the garden gate, Hugo. Lily can't be a wand that can spin neither," Scorpius said forlornly. "Only James can be Anything because he's Nobody."

Lily merely turned up her nose disdainfully and pirouetted to prove her point, but Hugo did what he always did best under thwarted circumstances. He wailed like a banshee.

The stressed-out Slytherin sat defeatedly on the garden bench and buried his face in his hands, wishing he could join in.

"Don't worry, Mr Malfoy, it'll all be okay." Rose stood on the bench to pat his shoulder sympathetically. "And I'm not going to be anything."

Our brave hero nodded, the soothing words giving him courage anew. Without a thought for his own sanity, he rose to face the storm of mysterious conversations firing at him from all directions.

"Well, you can't be Anything anyway, Rose, because James is," Scorpius was informing his best friend.

"I'm a wand that can spin!" The small blonde Potterette whirled in to make the announcement before whirling back out again.

Middle Potter was waving his arms about and mumbling a peculiar monologue about inanimate objects whilst Eldest Potter was enthusiastically reeling off his future career ambitions. "I'm going to be a broomstick that flies all the way to Africa and back, then I'm going to be a Thestral – you'll all have to die for that one so you can see me – then I'm going to be a Quidditch champion like Mum, then I'm going to be..."

Hugo wailed even louder.

"Listen up!" Draco commanded, drawing himself up to his full height and folding his arms. "As aforementioned, for a short while we are going to play absolutely nothing..."

"Oh, but I thought we were going to play Nothing!" Albus protested.

Draco regarded him with a stern look that would have rivalled McGonagall at her most ferocious. "Which of course we are."

"When are we playing Absolutely Nothing then?" Scorpius queried.

"We ARE playing absolutely nothing."

"So when are we going to play Nothing?" James wished to know.

Galloping Goblins, give him strength! The lanky wizard glared at Scar-Face's eldest. "Exactly what part of _we are not playing anything_ do you not understand?"

"None of it," James answered honestly. "You said we could play Nothing and Absolutely Nothing and I could be Nobody."

"Mr Malfoy, can James _really_ be Anything at all when he's Nobody?" Albus waited patiently, and a little jealously, for the rules of the game to be clarified.

"Dad, Dad! If James is going to be Nobody when we play Nothing, can I have a go at being Nobody when we play Absolutely Nothing?"

Draco's new-found courage began to flounder and die amid the relentless attack. "For Merlin's sake!" He regressed to pulling at his his once-perfectly-gelled blond locks, and Hugo stopped wailing to faithfully imitate his hero. "We are going to play _nothing."_

"Not Absolutely Nothing?" Albus queried.

"We are playing _absolutely nothing."_

James sighed. "I'm all mixed up now, Mr Malfoy. Are we playing Nothing or Absolutely Nothing?"

The ex-Death Eater valiantly held back a scream of frustration. "We are playing nothing, nothing, _NOTHING_ _!"_

James' face fell in disappointment. "Not Nothing or Absolutely Nothing?"

"Granger," Draco said testily. "You are meant to be my second-in-command. May I point out that sitting on a garden bench with an owl on your shoulder giggling is no help whatsoever."

Stricken with guilt, Rose took several deep breaths in a vain attempt to control her laughter.

"But, Dad, Trimblefeathers isn't giggling." Scorpius sounded perplexed.

"I don't think he can, Scorp," Albus said.

"My Dad said he was giggling so maybe he can sometimes."

"Oh, yeah, I think your Dad can giggle sometimes. But I don't think Trimblefeathers can."

The wizarding owl simply stared at the pair.

"I'm not a wand that can spin any more." Lily proclaimed, having twirl-danced dizzily back into the group. She turned her attention to Hugo. "I know! You be a baddie and I'll be Nora and you rob Granny Got and I put you under a vest and take you to Has Cab Man." (For the benefit of readers unfamiliar with Lilyspeak, this translated as _I have a suggestion. Kindly_ _pretend to be a thief_ _and_ _I_ _will pretend to be an Auror_ _who arrests_ _you for robb_ _ing Gringotts' Bank_ _and escort_ _s you_ _to Azkaban_.)

It seemed, however, Hugo had no desire to pursue a life of crime. "I don't want to be a baddie. I want to be the garden gate and I say who can come in and who can't come in."

James meanwhile was still trying to make sense of the promised fun activities. "So...are we playing Nothing or Absolutely Nothing or Nothing, Nothing, Nothing?"

And this time poor Draco really did scream. A long, hard, plaintive scream, a scream that would tear and break and shatter your heart into a thousand pieces had you heard it.

Rose alone, having finally pulled herself together, had presence enough of mind enough to stand on the bench once more to pat his shoulder. "There, there, Mr Malfoy. There, there, it's okay."

The rest of the children watched him in fascination.

"Are we going to play who can scream loudest instead, Dad?" Scorpius voiced their collective thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to:-

 **nobodysperfect** for your thoughtful review of Chapter 3.

 **trinityblue76** for your lovely review of Chapter 3, also your review of _Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall,_ and adding it to your Favourites, in addition to adding this fic to Favourites and Alerts

 **Guest** for your kind review of Chapter 3

 **nobodyperfect** suggested adding a little more depth to this story. I have to agree, I did feel it needed more substance. So I've changed the genre to Humour/Angst and hope it works out because, as usual, I only have a vague idea of where a fic is going…

ps Remember, this fic is AU – just in case anybody pulls me up about Albus being destined for Hufflepuff! :D

 *****chapter 4*****

 *****Life Is Just A Bowl of Cherries*****

"Right. Are we all here?" The wizard who carried the dubious title of being the world's worst Death Eater cast a paternal eye over his miniature army. Six children, each bearing a small basket of goodies for their later sustenance. One owl. Excellent. As it should be. "Now let's get this straight from the start. We are going on a picnic. This involves taking food and drink with us to eat in the open air. It does NOT involve picking anybody called Nick to come with us." Draco smirked proudly at his little joke. He was feeling surprisingly relaxed.

An unexpected downpour had sent the play-daters and their host scurrying into the St Mungo's holiday chalet they had been allocated for the day. After a refreshing cup of tea, while he and Eldest Granger supervised the little witches and wizards eating a healthy fruit snack, he was ready to handle anything this lot threw at him. Fortunately. Because the throwing had already begun albeit accidentally. Scorpius, for reasons best known to Scorpius himself, decided the best way to eat grapes was by closing his eyes, throwing them one at a time into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth. As the youngest Malfoy was seemingly not blessed with the finely-tuned co-ordination of a future star Quidditch player, and his fond father stood close by, slicing up an apple for Hugo (who, presumably, was a very distinguished guest, for he sat giving detailed instructions as to what size and shape he wished each slice to be, which, however, the newly-appointed butler pointedly ignored) three grapes in rapid succession caught him square on the forehead, nose and mouth on their way to the floor.

"Oh! Sorry, Dad. They ran away." Scorpius had turned around in a bid to solve the mystery of the disappearing grapes. "You can have those, if you want," he added benevolently.

"I do _not_ want, thank you very much!" Grimacing, Draco picked up the trio of desperate escapees and dropped them unceremoniously on to a paper napkin. The Malfoys were famed for their impeccable table manners. Lucius Malfoy would turn in his grave to see his grandson's.

But after the trauma of the snacks, the playdate settled into a rare period of (almost) normality. St Mungo's really did think of everything for their staff's time-out family days in the specially provided chalets. For inclement weather, paints, pencils and paper had been provided, and soon his charges were busy creating works of art, and weird and wonderful pictures now adorned the chalet walls. Until then, their caregiver had been totally unaware that he wore a huge, terrifying smile and marched everywhere, arms outstretched as though performing a particularly difficult balancing act, but when he quizzed the artist, Mad Professor insisted on it being an outstanding likeness and added a lop-sided moustache to prove it.

"I don't have a moustache," Draco objected.

"You might have a moustache when you grow up," Hugo explained patiently. Grown-ups were a bit thick at times.

There was no arguing with that kind of logic. He muttered an incantation, waved his wand, and the picture joined the others already magically stuck on the wall. Anyway, he felt back on Slytherin form. The downpour apparently had more urgent business elsewhere, for its visit was brief before it hurried on by, and the sun took its place to beam happily down, quickly drying everywhere. Finding children's picnic baskets in the treasure trove of the chalet's walk-in cupboard, his picnic suggestion had been an inspired idea and greeted with great enthusiasm by his hard-to-please customers. He could afford to make jokes. And unwisely did.

James frowned. "Can I pick Joe and Jack, Mr Malfoy? Or can I only pick one? "

"What?" the lanky wizard asked, his good mood evaporating and being replaced by a growing sense of unease.

Harry and Ginny's eldest sighed. "I haven't got a friend called Nick. But if I pick Joe, Jack will want to come as well, he always does, and their Mum will say Joe has to take him, and he's a pain 'cos he always wants to follow me and Joe and do what we do and he can't 'cos he's too little and then he cries and tells their Mum and we get all the blame. It's not fair!" James' declared hotly, stamping his foot in anger, and his voice rising at the injustice of it all. "Why have I got to pick Jack? I don't want him to come! It's not fair!"

Draco opened his mouth to point out the scenario existed only inside its author's imagination, but just then there was a stampede of customers placing orders.

"I want to pick apples," Albus announced, "and pears. And cherries. But I haven't got a broomstick and I don't like being high up and I don't want to have to get them off the trees and I'm not going to get them off the grass and I don't want to carry them."

"Oh, my Dad can do all that, Alb." Scorpius breezily volunteered his father's services by proxy.

"I want to pick dancing shoes." Dance-Yourself-Dizzy piped up. "And I want to pick where we go. And I want to pick what we eat first and what we dance. And I want to pick..."

"I want to pick my nose."

" _Eewww!"_

" _Yuck!"_

"That's just gross, Hugo!"

The aspiring nose picker remained undeterred. "Yeah. I want a big red nose like a clown has and big, big shoes and a flower that squirts water."

"Picking Nick was a _joke!"_ Draco cried helplessly

James looked at him sternly. "That's a mean trick, Mr Malfoy! Now Nick will think he can come with us and he can't and he might have really, really, _really_ wanted to."

"Look, we're not picking anything..."

"But you said..."

"We could pick _flowers_ , guys, _"_ Rose suggested diplomatically.

"Oh, yeah! Lilies!" Lily agreed enthusiastically.

"Nah, roses." Scorpius grinned at his best friend.

"Fruit," Albus said firmly.

"Noses!" The dedicated nose-picker persevered.

"I'm not picking _flowers!"_ James objected. "I'm picking beetles."

But in the end it was daffodils they picked.

The hardy St Mungo flowers had bloomed in early spring and now in May were at their very best. Scorpius saw them first, just when the picnickers had found the perfect spot and set down their baskets on the picnic tables, ready to eat, drink, argue, query, and generally drive their mentor to the brink of insanity, and the little wizard excitedly pulled Rose with him to admire the river of rippling yellow blossoms that nodded their heads in the faint breeze, as though in gentle greeting. Trimblefeathers flew swiftly after his owner and Lily followed, running and skipping, seeking decorations for her hair and clothes, patiently aided and abetted in her quest by future Hufflepuff Albus, while Hugo simply sat on the slightly damp grass before the breathtaking sight, and folded his arms like a king surveying his kingdom – although Draco recognised the signs of a thousand questions tumbling around Mad Professor's mind, all of which would be fired at him in due course and re-loaded if answers did not meet expectations. Even James the Flower-Scorner was captivated by the beauty of nature, although he pretended not to be, huffing and puffing, thrusting his hands into his pockets, digging his heel into the soil as if bored, unaware the ghost of a smile fluttered across his lips.

A handful of clouds sailed lazily through the deep blue sky while sunlight and shade played with dappling shadows, and for a moment, a rare and precious moment, when each and every child was thoroughly occupied, and not bombarding him with questions, requests and peculiar observations, Draco tenderly watched his son and the daughter of his former foes, close, so close, in their chatter and laughter, wondering if he, too, had never been raised to despise muggles, would he and Granger have known the same childhood companionship? They were friends now, but it was a wary friendship, slow and uncertain and fearful of a careless word. Time gave promises of its future, but time also clung to its past. Seeds of hope planted in hearts never could grow as quickly and easily as daffodils.

And then, because they could, the memories slipped back.

 **XXXXX**

"If," Astoria said, "anything goes wrong..."

"Nothing will go wrong," he insisted croakily.

"Draco, we have to face facts."

Still he gazed resolutely out of the window of their little muggle home. The picture was dismal. Under a leaden sky exactly-the-same roofs were being dampened with exactly the same intensity by exactly the same rain. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing here in muggledom when he could have re-joined wizarding society via Prosbert's Purest Potions.

Oscar Prosbert owed his late father for pumping money into his ailing business – ironically, an apothecary - and for keeping his name and consequently his family out of Voldemort's circle. Despite his many faults, Lucius could be surprisingly caring - always just to please his wife, but then again he never needed much persuading. Prosbert had a young family, Narcissa said, four children under the age of eight, she added, with nobody to look after them if anything happened to their widowed father, and no money, she sighed, no money at all, to keep his struggling apothecary going. Both of them knowing Oscar Prosbert was exactly the kind of vulnerable pureblood recruit the Dark Lord ensnared with promises of riches.

And when it was over, Voldemort vanquished, and Narcissa and Lucius long gone to that great wizarding universe in the sky, when Draco and Astoria were being ostracised still, by Voldemort sympathisers for bringing up their baby son to treat muggles as equals, and by the magical world for Draco's war crimes, when Malfoy Manor and the Malfoy wealth had been seized for war reparation, Prosbert remembered his debt.

It wasn't much, he admitted in embarrassment, fidgeting nervously with the wizarding hat that usually hid his baldness, just a back-room potions assistant, just until wizards and witches became used to his presence, and he could confidently work in front, just until he could take over the business, which, of course, rightfully belonged to the Malfoys…

He should have taken up Prosbert's offer. That damn apothecary grew to be the diamond of Diagon Alley and Oscar Prosbert a very wealthy man. But Draco was like his father. Weak. As soon as Astoria reminded him that his presence, even in the back-room, could well adversely affect its fortunes and consequently the fortunes of Prosbert's family, he backed off from shaking hands on the deal with the same swiftness a certain Harry Potter did with a certain young and extremely ignorant wizard long ago.

"Do you ever regret marrying me?"

That question. The one he never hoped to answer because he hoped it would never be asked. He sucked in a breath.

"Draco, look at me."

He couldn't. Not at first. Not until she said softly, "Please."

Like his father again. Easily persuaded. He turned and met his wife's anxious eyes and tremulous smile. Walked back to the bed and sat heavily back down again on the rickety wooden chair he'd pulled up to the bed-side earlier. Money being in short supply when they moved into the muggle home, they'd kept some chairs the previous inhabitants didn't want, but what the hell did muggles do to their furniture? Give it to dragons to sit on or chop it into tiny pieces to see if they could fit it all back together again?

"Perhaps they couldn't afford anything else." Astoria had a habit of reading his thoughts. In the early days of their courtship, traumatised by war, suspicious of all, he was convinced she was capable of Legilimency.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve," she'd told him once, as they strolled around the Manor grounds. Before, just a year later, the Ministry stole everything, including the Manor, from his family.

Automatically, he'd pulled down his sleeve to hide the Dark Mark. Normally, it was never on show, but it was an exceptionally hot day, and the robes he'd worn to impress when she came to dinner felt exceptionally heavy.

"It's a muggle expression, Draco," she chuckled. "It means you show your feelings. You never used to, you know, not before the War. Muggles say..."

He scowled. "What the hell do muggles know? _They_ weren't forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding." Only weeks after the trial, still stung by the hatred towards him, he wasn't exactly the most charming of suitors. Merlin knew why Astoria persisted. She could have walked away, dated someone who wasn't a disgraced ex-Death Eater, left him to wallow in his self-pity. But she didn't.

" _They_ know a lot. They died and were tortured too," she reminded him gently.

"I know," he said uncomfortably, wishing he could retract the thoughtless remark. Tell her his anger wasn't directed at muggles, but at himself. He didn't resent muggles. War had sobered him. But saying what was in his heart was hard. "I meant..."

He left the words to trail alone on the air and hoped she understood. And she did. She understood him better than he understood himself.

When, as their relationship blossomed, he asked Tori why she never gave up on an evil ex-Death Eater, she said he'd never been evil. Spoilt, arrogant and cowardly, he may have been all these things when a child, but he'd grown up since then, and he'd always been drawn more to the Light than the Dark.

Never would Draco have dreamed when at Hogwarts that he would fall in love with shy, quiet Astoria Greengrass, remembered only vaguely as a nonentity who passed by on the periphery of his vision, younger sister of his classmate, the very loud Daphne. About the only thing he noticed about Tori in his schooldays was that the dark-haired girl and blonde Daphne were total opposites. Astoria was pretty in an unassuming way, never wearing the heavy make-up that Daphne and Pansy and a few other witches favoured, instead wearing hardly any, which somehow made her all the more striking. He knew, too, she was hopeless at Arithmancy because once he overheard Daphne bagging her out over a Howler she'd apparently received from their parents, which greatly amused him because, back then, he found others' misfortune funny. And he knew she was friendly towards muggleborns and blood traitors, which angered and disgusted him. For reasons that shamed him now.

But over time he came to realise Astoria Greengrass was not some empty-headed witch, who'd accepted Mother's match-making invitation to dinner simply to sell her story to Rita Skeeter. Astoria was strong and clever, kind and witty, caring and stubborn. Refusing to bow to Slytherin's pureblood doctrine, defying her family who still saw muggles as scum, standing by Draco when all shunned him. She said the past was the past. It was the future they should look to now. Sunlight was beaming down on them as she spoke and suddenly she gasped and caught his arm.

He followed her gaze, towards the hill on the very edge of the vast estate, where countless daffodils grew. He shrugged. He'd seen them so many times before and had so many other things to worry about during Voldemort's reign that the sight barely registered any more. "Oh, Father had them planted for Mother, for her birthday or an anniversary or whatever, because the name Narcissa is Greek for daffodil or something. He always did like showing off."

"They're beautiful and you are so unromantic!" But Tori said it in a teasing way that made him smile, and her eyes dancing as merrily as the daffodils danced. So he looked anew at the carpet of gold and something anew stirred in his heart. The world wasn't cloaked by darkness. With the death of Voldemort, shadows had lifted but he, Draco, had never stepped out of those shadows. Until the dark-haired witch he'd once scorned made him remember how to smile.

"I suppose it was a nice idea," he conceded.

"It's more than that, Draco," she said, with a faraway look in her eyes. "It's new beginnings."

It was several months later that he discovered the reason for that faraway look. When Tori told him about the curse that might kill her. And how if she lived she would plant roses, but if she died, then lay daffodils on her grave.

 **XXXXX**

"My Friend's Dad," Hugo began, abandoning his kingdom and making his way towards him. "Why…"

Oh, dear Merlin, here they went. He should have learned his lesson by now, but a residue of sarcasm that the Scary Six hadn't yet managed to tear out of him still lived on in Draco. "I don't _know_ why daffodils don't grow moustaches," he said testily. "I don't _know_ whether they will have moustaches when they grow up. I don't _know_ if they prefer apples, strawberries, carrots or broccoli for elevenses. I don't _know!"_

Hugo stared at him pityingly for a long time. At last, he spoke. Slowly, as if to a half-witted troll. "Daffodils don't have moustaches."

"I know this al..."

"They _might_ have elevenses, though."

Draco's mouth clamped shut. He would never win.

"Why don't you like the daffodils?" Hugo continued.

"Yeah, Dad. Why don't you?" Scorpius asked, innocently awaiting his father's answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to:-

 **nobodysperfect2133** for your really nice review (glad you liked the change from Humour to Angst/Humour) and for adding F _lowers Never Bend with the Rainfall_ to your Favouries

 **trinityblue 76** for your lovely review of Chapter 4. I think I like Hugo best too! :D

 **Guest** for your thoughtful review of Chapter 4, glad it made you laugh

 **Love-magic Harry** for adding this fic to your Favourites

 **Deranged Reviewer** \- how _do_ people think up these names? :D - for adding this fic to Alerts

 *****Chapter 5*****

 *****Saying It With Flowers*****

"Why don't you like daffodils, Dad?" Scorpius repeated, half puzzled, half intrigued.

"Yeah, Mr Malfoy, you look at them like you hate them worse than me," James chipped in with his observation of how his friend's father seemed to regard the magnificent yellow blooms and his own feelings towards Rose's girly suggestion that he could pick flowers.

"Oh, Mr Malfoy doesn't hate you, James," Albus said consolingly. "He probably just doesn't like you very much, like me."

"Yes, well, that's 'cos nobody likes you, Alb," James noted.

"Scorp does."

"Scorp likes everybody, though."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot! Oh, well!" Albus Hufflepuffledly accepted the apparent status quo without any great concern.

"You _have_ been glaring at them, you know, Mr Malfoy," Rose remarked. "We were all worried about you. Why don't you like the daffodils?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Draco lied. "It's just...um...daffodils...um... make me sneeze sometimes."

Embarrassingly, a lump had lodged in the Slythrin's throat and refused to be swallowed away. He couldn't help but be moved by their empathy and stunned by their sharp perception of his feelings towards the beautiful yellow flowers. Or, at least, Rose's, Scorpius's and Hugo's sharp perception, he had absolutely no idea what the Potter brothers were talking about nor why the Potteress was shouting _"I know! I know!"_ while doing that jumping up and down and waving hand in the air thing that they all did at times, and it was probably best not to make any enquiries.

But he was damned if he was going to conduct a heart-to-heart with these, as he'd discovered, superior-powered beings and explain how his wife might succumb to a curse imposed on her family centuries ago, and wished for daffodils to be laid on her grave. First, he had no idea where to begin. Secondly, he wasn't sure he should burden them with such cares. Thirdly, he was pretty damn sure muggle movie style scenes of six children gathered around him declaring they would all stay together because they only had each other – or even singing and dancing about the tragic news, which often happened in muggle movies, he'd noticed – was not going to happen. He was not delusional. He was also not prepared for what came next.

"I know why Mr Mallyfly doesn't like them really. It's because..." Dance-Yourself Dizzy made touch-down with earth and confidently announced in a stage whisper; "The daffodils are going to try to _kill_ him."

All heads swivelled round to stare at Lily. The little witch importantly flicked back her long blonde hair and nodded emphatically.

James snorted and rolled his eyes. "As if!".

"The daffodils are going to try to _kill_ me?" the lanky wizard asked, startled.

"See?" Lily smirked at her big brother. "Mr Mallyfly said so."

Despite the high improbability of being murdered by daffodils, Draco's poignant thoughts about Astoria were abruptly brushed aside as his curiosity was piqued. "And how exactly are they going to try to kill me?"

"I think," Hugo waded in with his scholarly opinion, "they wait till you go to sleep. Then they come down the chimney."

"How many?" Scorpius entered the story.

"Two. No, three!" Hugo corrected himself.

"They only need one chimney, Hu," Albus pointed out.

"No, he meant _daffodils,_ didn't you?" Scorpius clarified.

"There's millions and millions of daffodils, Scorp!" Albus spread his arms expansively and twirled around to indicate the merry sea of yellow.

"Three daffodils," Hugo continued in his best scary voice, ignoring their debate; "come down the chimney at night when you're fast asleep and..." His bottom lip quivered as he suddenly realised he was frightening himself.

Lily screamed, recapturing the attention. "It's MY story," the _prima donna_ asserted, satisfied that she'd regained her audience. "And they don't come down the chimney. They come through the window"

"They slide under the door," Scorpius added.

"No, that's daft! They can just apparate into your bedroom." James abandoned his original cynicism to join in the round-robin tale. "Then they crawl on the floor and up on your bed and..."

Two fat tears splashed down Hugo's cheeks. He tugged urgently on his care-giver's sleeve.

"Now what?" Draco snapped..

"I'm scared the daffodils are going to get me!"

"The daffodils are _not_ going to _get_ you. Daffodils are very, very friendly and would never dream of attacking anyone." Was he, an ex-Death Eater, really having this conversation? "Isn't that so, Rose?" He appealed to his Lieutenant for back-up.

"Oh, yeah. It's the roses you have to watch out for," Rose said absently, from where she now sat at one of the two picnic tables, no longer concerned about his dislike of daffodils after the explanation, busy unpacking owl treats for Trimblefeathers, who was perched on his owner's shoulder, intently watching the proceedings.

Hugo gulped. "I'm scared the roses are going to get me!"

"The roses are _not_ going to get you either. For future reference, neither are the bluebells, the daisies or the buttercups. They are all very, very nice flowers and _never_ hang around in gangs." Had The Darkest Lord of All Time really entrusted him with that Special Mission albeit setting him up to fail? Even the Hufflepuffiest Hufflepuff would have burst out laughing if they could hear him now. Forget Harry Potter heroics. Why didn't the Ministry of Magic think of the obvious solution? This lot would have brought Voldemort to his knees sobbing in seconds.

Somehow Mad Professor's vice-like grip had sneaked from his robe sleeve to clamp down on his hand and it was bloody well hurting. Gritting his teeth, Draco performed a spell to dry the damp grass off the little wizard and swung him up on to the picnic bench beside his sister.

" _Roses?"_ He arched a questioning and reproachful eyebrow at Eldest Granger.

Hugo, calmed after the reassurances, shook his bushy head. "No, Rose is Rose," he said helpfully, thinking how lucky His Friend's Dad was to have him here to explain. "It's Roses if it's two people called Rose and if you was called Hugo and I was called Hugo I'd be Hugos and you'd be Hugos."

The lanky wizard blinked and hurried on. "Roses?" He queried again.

"Sorry, Mr Malfoy, I was reading what it said on the back of the owl teats packet." Rose poured some into her palm for the happy Trimblefeathers. "I meant it's the thorns you have to be careful of."

Hugo squealed. "I'm scared the thor..."

"Enough!" Draco commanded in exasperation.

The little wizard was shock therapied out of his terror of thorns by the unexpected decree. "But I haven't even had my cake or my banana or my juice or nuffin' yet!" He wailed, and buried his face on top of his child-size picnic hamper, sobbing at the unfairness of the new law.

The Slytherin sighed. "Granger, will you kindly explain the context in which the instruction was used and feed Youngest Granger while I attend to more urgent matters? And please refrain from raising your eyebrow and smirking at me like that. I can't think where you're acquiring these habits from."

"Me neither," Rose grinned, patting her small brother's back and obligingly lifting the lid of his picnic hamper, which brought about a miraculous recovery from his recent sorrows.

Draco huffed. Really, whatever happened to fear of ex-Death Eaters and respect for the ancient and glorious name of Malfoy? It was time he took charge. _Firm_ charge. He would take no prisoners. Scorpius, Potters One and Two and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy were still arguing over the cunning military plans of the Daffodil Army. Order needed to be restored, and fast. "Everybody who isn't already seated, SIT DOWN IMMEDIATELY! _"_

To normal people, being asked to sit down would mean on the nearest seats, which in this case were the wooden benches adjoined to the two wooden picnic tables thoughtfully provided. Of course he'd forgotten he wasn't dealing with normal people.

Scorpius and the Potter trio obediently and quite happily sat down in the exact spot where they stood. Which happened to be in an even damper area than Mad Professor had chosen. With another heavy sigh, our hero dried each child off and silently and sternly – at least, he hoped he looked stern, but the fact none of the four seemed even remotely perturbed and chattered happily among themselves did not bode well – and pointed them and their lately retrieved child-size picnic hampers in the direction of said tables. For some unfathomable reason, all three Potters and one Malfoy ignored the adjoining empty table and squeezed companionably in with the Granger-Weasleys. Arms, elbows and hands jutted into faces, legs became tangled, food and drink rolled, splashed, crumbled, fell and generally thoroughly enjoyed itself, and Wizarding War Three broke out.

"I was here first!"

"No, you weren't, Rose, I was born before you!" James contested.

"My Friend's Dad said I could stay here forever and ever and ever!" Hugo was given to exaggeration for dramatic effect.

"Oww! You hit me in the chin!"

"Well, you just kicked me!"

"Not my fault, Lily elbowed me!"

"Stop shoving, the daffodils haven't got enough room!"

"Whose is that biscuit that just got broke?"

"Mine, and you owe me a cake for that!"

"Do not! Aaargggh!" A blood curdling scream from the victim of the cake snatcher.

"Silencio!"

Draco heaved a sigh of relief, relishing the blissful silence. Sadly, it couldn't last. It was against magical law to silencio witches and wizards under the age of ten for more than five seconds. He used the brief respite to levitate Lily's vast collection of daffodils, conjured up a vase and with an aguamenti spell filled the vase with water. The little witch, with daffodils decorating her hair, several more worn around her wrist as a makeshift bracelet, and yet more serving as a long necklace, looked up at the levitating vase and smugly round at her peers before turning back to the picnic host, obviously regarding herself at the new Chosen One.

"Now you can magic me a..."

"No, I can't," Draco interrupted.

"Yes, you can, silly!" Lily had great faith in Mr Mallyfly's powers.

The Slytherin took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Why did he ever suggest a picnic? _Why?_ Picnics were no bloody picnic. And his picnics had a history of being unpredictable. Like the thunderstorm picnic...

 **XXXXX**

"Will you marry me?"

The words rushed out unexpectedly. He hadn't planned to say them when they fled with their as yet unopened picnic basket into the summerhouse, while the thunderstorm eagerly played out its drama all around the glass. Oh, he'd dreamed of saying them in idle moments – and there were many such idle moments since Astoria Greengrass stole his heart. Many such idle moments and a great many scenarios to asking for her hand in marriage.

Sometimes in the reverie he bent down on one knee to hold open a box that showed a glittering, hugely expensive antique ring. Sometimes Tori, to his great delight, said yes, yes, yes and hugged and kissed him and at other times Tori, to his great anguish, said no, never, never, never, not in a thousand years. Sometimes he made a long, impressive speech, then proposed over a grand banquet held in her honour and at other times he popped the question quietly at their special place – by the daffodils, where they'd shared their first tender kiss.

Once or twice, to their mutual anxiety, he dropped or mislaid the ring and once or twice, to their mutual horror, a bird resembling a muggle magpie swooped down and snatched it from his grasp. Sometimes, a favourite dream, he made the grand gesture of flying several loop-de-loops over the Malfoy lake, while using his wand to spell that very important question in huge letters across the sky – although this particular proposal was extremely unlikely due to fact the conditions of his probationary period stipulated his wand be used for essential spells only, and his broomstick be used for essential journeys only.

But, as it happened, not a single castle, nor even broomstick, in the air found root in reality. For there they were, he and Astoriai, in the summerhouse, trapped by the thunderstorm that gatecrashed their picnic and by way of apology put on a mighty show, and both of them breathless from their run and drenched from the torrential rain that still streamed down the glass, when Tori turned to him in the lightning flash, eyes bright, long black hair shining with raindrops, face flushed from running.

"Wowww!" she shouted in childish excitement, in competition with the thunder's roar, and in a most unladylike manner that would have shocked Narcissa and Lucius, who were keen, nay, desperate, for their son and heir to rekindle his relationship with Pansy, or to make his acquaintance with any other pureblood witch who, unlike Astoria Greengrass - how Narcissa bitterly regretted that matchmaking dinner! - realised _"quite sensibly"_ that muggleborns were most definitely not equal to their superior race.

Occasionally, The Marriage Question, as he'd begun to call it, even dropped by in the middle of dealing with facts, figures and finance pertaining to Malfoy business, and he would be startled out of the dream by a loud cough, to find his pater and several Gringotts goblins staring at him impatiently.

But when he did finally pluck up the courage to ask – hey, he was Slytherin, he didn't do bravery – the question simply happened, and all by accident, because, when Tori turned to him in the lightning flash that lit up the summerhouse and her beauty, trying to shout above the thunder's roar, he'd meant to say _"I love you"_.

Panicked at not having the ring, and flustered at how uncool and unMalfoylike the proposal had been, Draco tied himself up in knots over tying the knot, and explained, or thought he explained, how he hadn't meant to say that, it was all a terrible mistake, then tagging The Marriage Question on after Those Three Little Words, then tagging Those Three Little Words on after The Marriage Question, then somehow mixing them up into _I-love-me-marry-you-will-you_ , and beginning all over again three times more, and at first Astoria looking confused, then chuckling, then taking pity and interrupting his speech about how he really meant to make a speech before he asked her to…

"Yes, Draco, I would love to marry you, but..."

His heart skipped a terrified beat. In all the scenarios, Astoria said yes or no, but there had never been a _yes, but._

It was then, dabbing her eyes because she loved him so, the witch he loved so much told him of the Greengrass family curse from generations before, of how she might not live to be his wife for very long. And in the summerhouse with the thunderstorm raging wildly all around, wrapped in each other's arms, the couple wept a little and sighed a little, whispered a little and kissed a little, and laughed a little, too, at inconsequential matters, how each had forgotten to cast a spell to dry off the rain, how their tears mingled with raindrops, how their picnic basket of the most luxurious foods and vintage magical Malfoy wine remained untouched, because they had to laugh, they needed to laugh, if they didn't laugh...well.

In the midst of the storm, they made their plans and their promises. They would marry. Soon. They would marry despite both their families, who clung to pureblood ideals of superiority, being against the match. They would refuse to bring up any children they were blessed with to believe muggles were scum. They would end the prejudices of old.

Thus they were wed, and they kept their promises, though more storms came, and each colder than the last. The Ministry of Magic claimed the Manor and the Malfoy wealth in war reparations. Angry at her for marrying a pariah and for her muggle sympathies, Astoria's family broke her heart by disowning her. Lucius and Narcissa passed away within months of each other. Then Astoria and Draco were alone.

After a while, time sought and time found them, they and the son they were blessed with, living in a small home in muggle suburbia, eking out an existence, he as a trainee Healer, she as a muggle kindergarten teacher. All was well, or well as it could be, for the birth had taken its toll on Tori and left her weak. Still, they were happy enough. Draco worked tirelessly on mixing new potions for his wife, both of them ever hopeful of a cure, and they loved so much, and were so proud of, the child they raised to know no prejudice.

Until Scorpius accidentally met the offspring of Granger, Potter and two Weasleys and, being Scorpius, decided to be lifelong friends with all, while the offspring of Granger, Potter and two Weasleys, being the offspring of Granger, Potter and two Weasleys, decided to be lifelong friends with Scorpius - _and_ his father. Which led to this moment.

This very moment.

 **XXXXX**

The overcrowded picnic table next to a deserted picnic table was a ludicrous state of affairs and the ex-Death Eater intended to rectify it immediately.

"Look, can half of you move to the _empty_ table?" He demanded irritably. Apart from a despairing boiled egg rolling off the edge and dashing itself to death below, nobody moved. Everybody looked aghast at the very suggestion.

"Right! Right, _I_ will sit at the empty picnic table."

Howls of protest greeted the announcement. Our hero was not to be deterred, however, and set off on the journey. He lifted the lid of his own hamper, suddenly realising his stomach was rumbling, and gazing with pure delight at a container of pasta. Then he scowled. Six children carrying various items of food and drink, and dropping most of it on the way, followed him to settle there. As it is apt to do in such sociable circumstances, the conversation flowed.

"Mind my nose, Alb!"

"Can't, Scorp. Your head is in my ear."

"Mr Mallyfly! Mr Mallyfly, James just put his face in my custard tart!"

"You threw at him!"

"Mr Mallyfly! Mr Mallyfly, Rose is telling fibs!"

"I _like_ custard tart anyway!"

"Mr Mallyfly! Mr Mallyfly, James is eating my custard tart off his face!"

"My Friend's Dad, I need my jam sandwich cutting up. One hundred times."

Draco growled, picked up his picnic goodies and stomped back to the lately abandoned picnic table that the levitating vase of daffodils had all to itself. Six children faithfully followed, however, leaving a trail of food behind them. Birds swooped low, wasps and bees circled, assorted insects crawled enthusiastically towards the banquet. Wand arm held aloft to spell away bird droppings, bee and wasp stings, ant armies and all other potential hazards, the lanky wizard sat perched on the very end of the bench, jostling with everybody else.


	6. Chapter 6

_For your lovely, and greatly appreciated, reviews of Chapter 5, many thanks to:-_

 ** **trinityblue 76****

 ** **nobodysperfect2133****

 ** **Guest****

 ** **A/N:**** **Wow, it was hard going writing this chapter, but I'm going on holiday tomorrow (actually, it's past midnight now so today!) and wanted to** **get it done** **. Hope anybody who reads enjoys.**

 *****chapter 6*****

 *****The Stars of the Show*****

"Can I have my prize now?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the small creature with the mop of terrifying hair, who stood staring down at him from the stage of the open-air theatre that his mentor had kindly conjured up.

"No," he said firmly, folding his arms and refusing to be intimidated. I explained it all _three times_ before you got up on stage. You have to DO something to win a prize. Then we decide who's best and whoever's _best_ wins a prize."

"I'm best!" Hugo said without hesitation. "What did I win?"

It seemed the audience was growing restless. Draco didn't dare turn round to find out why, but he could hear much shuffling in the stalls directly behind him. "Hugo, don't be such a dork!" James yelled. "You have to DO something to win, like Mr Malfoy says."

"I did!" Hugo's foot stamped once in dire warning. If Draco didn't act quickly, this could get nasty.

"Okay, okay," he sighed. "I might be prepared to negotiate. Exactly what did you do?"

The youngest and most dangerous of the Strange Ones smiled broadly, in a way that terrified his care-giver, pleased to see people were coming round to his way of thinking at last and asking all the right questions. "I Stood Here," he announced triumphantly, his voice booming into the conjured microphone..

"You have to do a bit more than that to win a prize, Hu," Rose told her little brother patiently. "What else did you do?"

Hugo's brow creased momentarily in thought. Then he brightened. "I Sat There." He pointed to one of several chairs their host had conjured up for the assembled group, naively imagining a talent contest would give him some much-needed take-it-easy time and was therefore a good idea. He should have known by now anything involving this lot was never a good idea. Even Playing Absolutely Nothing in the vain hope of some downtime had not been a good idea.

"I Sat There," Hugo repeated. He was really getting the hang of this. "Then I Got Up. Then I Stood Here." He jumped on the spot with excitement. "What've I won?"

"You'd best give him something, Mr Malfoy," Rose whispered from the adjoining seat.

Draco nodded. He couldn't risk provoking the temperamental star. "What for, though?" He whispered back.

"Dancing?" Rose shrugged.

"Right you are." He cleared his throat and raised his voice to make the announcement. "The prize for Dancing goes to..." The master of ceremonies paused, suddenly realising he hadn't got as far as deciding on prizes when he blithely suggested a talent contest, fondly imagining he could close his eyes and snooze while four little wizards and two little witches tired themselves out by dancing, singing and skipping around a stage. It was a foolhardy plan. Mad Professor the All Powerful was staring at him in smug expectation, awaiting promised prize. And that shuffling from behind again. Draco gulped in fear. This did not bode well. "Granger, what do I give him?" he hissed urgently.

"Chocolate? Sweets, toffees, something like that?" Rose replied, patting Trimblefeathers, who appeared to be the only one enjoying the show, for he snuggled in the crook of his mistress's shoulder, hooting mildly in sleepy contentment,.

"Nothing left from the picnic," Draco confided. It was hardly surprising. Every woodland animal, bird and insect known to witchkind and wizardkind had come from far and wide to attend the picnic as well.

"And you can't conjure food. Gamp's Law," Rose chewed her bottom lip in contemplation.

"Think of something. Fast!" Draco begged. The situation was becoming critical. Mad Professor was now chanting a war cry. "I want my prize! I want my prize! I want my prize!"

It was then things took a very unexpected turn. Something that resembled a whirling dervish was speeding towards the tiny star. It reached him. Two arms shoved him roughly aside. The whirling dervish spun furiously a handful of times around the stage, then stopped abruptly, and a little unsteadily.

" _I_ win Dancing," Lily declared breathlessly.

"My Friend's Dad said _I_ won dancing." Hugo reappeared and shoved the intruder back.

"You BOTH won Dancing!" Draco cried desperately.

"Yesss!" Lily punched the air. "I want a real wand for my prize."

"I want a real broomstick," declared the joint winner.

"You're too young to use magic and you're too young to ride a broomsticks," Draco said officiously, which was obviously not the right answer because now both Mad Professor and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy were looking frighteningly rebellious. Before the alleged talent contest began, he had had a vision of pleasant, well-behaved children patiently awaiting their turn, clapping their hands politely after each act, and voting fairly. What wonderful planet these children dwelled on was anybody's guess, but it was certainly not this one.

To his relief, Lieutenant Granger took charge. "I'll go calm them down," Rose volunteered, and got up immediately, Trimblefeathers flying after her.

Dear God, he really hadn't thought this through. He could hear that strange shuffling again although he couldn't risk letting down his guard to check it out. But it looked like the wild-haired witch was making progress. She turned round to give her mentor the thumbs-up. "Okay, Mr Malfoy, sorted. All you have to do now is tell them what they've _really_ won."

"Right. Right. It's a surprise. You've won...you've won..." He racked his brains desperately. "You've won...um...aaaahhh!" He yelled in fright as something warm and soft suddenly touched his ankle.

"S'okay! Dad's foot got in the way."

A white-blond head briefly popped up from under his chair to make the reassuring announcement before disappearing back into its natural habitat.

From under two more chairs, two miniature Harry Potters - Merlin's Beard, hadn't one back in the day been enough? - briefly poked their heads, too, above the precipice, presumably to check the veracity of the statement, before returning to the safety of their lair.

There was really no point in asking why the three needed to crawl under the seating area. If previous experience had taught the lanky wizard anything, it had taught him that asking any of his six charges to provide answers only led to further confusion. And it might have been a better idea not to waste magic conjuring up two dozen chairs, when only seven, at most, were required, but Malfoys liked grand gestures.

Eldest Granger was still up on stage discussing terms with the temperamental celebrities so he would have to handle this matter on his own.

"Out! Out! Out! _Now!"_ He ordered, tapping his wand on the arm of the chair with each word to add emphasis.

The white-blond head popped up once more from under a seat in front, closely shuffle-followed by its fellow under-chair dwellers, each gazing curiously up at him from whence they lay.

"What 's your Dad trying to get rid of, Scorp?" Albus propped his chin on his fists and generally made himself more comfortable to watch the show.

"I think it's a new spell,"his friend breathed in awe.

"Maybe there are wrackspurts crawling up there," Albus surmised.

"Nah. They go in ears so they'd be on his face," James said knowledgeably.

"Mr Malfoy!" Rose called, as he was still speechlessly pondering how on earth he communicated clearly with the mysterious underworld inhabitants. "We have another problem!"

"Now what?" The compère irritably abandoned the odd beings to join her on stage.

"You said I won an umaaaahhh and I haven't got it," Hugo pouted,

"Me neither." Lily's expression suggested she expected either the situation to be rectified immediately or a full refund.

"What's an umaaaahhh, Mr Malfoy?" James asked with interest. The dusty ones had slithered out at last to occupy front row seats in the stalls.

The Slytherin rolled his eyes at Eldest Potter. "An umaaaahhh does not exist because..."

"It's not invented yet?" James interrupted.

"Are you going to conjure one up, Dad?"

"Wowww!" Albus was impressed. "Can I have one as well, Mr Malfoy?"

"No, you can't" Lily said firmly. "You didn't win the Dancing."

"The Potteress is quite correct. You did not win the dancing and therefore you cannot have an umaaaa…." Draco stopped in the nick of time. They were lulling him into weird world again. If he didn't keep his wits about him, his brain would be frazzled in minutes.

"Mr Malfoy, I think you'd better conjure up a prize." Lieutenant Granger nodded meaningfully at their feted celebrities. Dance-Yourself-Dizzy was tapping her foot in warning wild dancing might break out at any moment, while Mad Professor's lower lip was trembling, a sure indication an earth-shattering wail would follow. "ANY prize."

"I don't want ANY prize. I want an umaaaahhh like Mr Mallyfly promised." Lily's foot came down with a heavy thud.

"We should get umaaaahhhs too, Dad," Scorpius decided.

"It's a TALENT contest, Scorpius," His father was fast losing patience with both the audience and the entertainment. "You have to be good at something or display at least a modicum of talent to stand any chance of winning it."

"My Mum says I have a real talent for being a pain in the neck at times," James said proudly.

"I'm _really_ good at throwing up when Dad gives me a lift on his broomstick," Albus offered.

"You and Mum always say I'm very, very, _very_ good at talking a lot. So we should all get a prize."

Draco couldn't help it. His growl of frustration turned quickly into a cry of deep despair, tapering off into a long, hard, loud scream. Oh, Merlin! Now he'd done it. He was meant to be the responsible adult in charge of these – creatures – and now they would lose all faith in him and never behave as he wanted them to. Not that they ever _did_ behave as he wanted them to, but still…

And then thunderous applause and stamping of feet – actually, Lily's broke out into a tap-dance but that is by-the-by – and whistles and whoops of approval threatened to bring the conjured theatre tumbling down. For a moment, he wondered if they'd somehow re-entered a time travel zone and they were back at Hogwarts, where Albus Dumbledore had just announced the Quidditch results.

"You've won too, Dad!" Scorpius shouted.

"Best at Screaming!" James called enthusiastically.

"You've won an umaaaahhh like Lily and me." Hugo tugged excitedly on the sleeve of his care-giver's robe. He and the dance-obsessed witch had a fixation with his robe sleeves. He was going start rolling them up and see how they liked it, Draco thought mutinously..

"Wait! I need a word with my assistant." He informed the star turn, and hastily drew Rose aside.

"What are they talking about? What the hell is an umaaaahhh?"

"No idea," she shrugged. "But they don't know either. So just conjure up a box. Tell them the umaaaahhh is inside and it's invisible. They'll be happy with that."

Draco could only gape in admiration at the wild-haired witch. Often he worried Scorpius would be too Hufflepuffy to make it, but the eldest child of Granger and the Weasel was Slytherin through and through.

The lanky wizard waved his wand and quickly conjured six shoe-sized boxes. "The winners of invisible umaaaahhhs and the award for Dancing goes to...that one and that one." He indicated.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Hugo and Lily," she supplied, taking the box from his hands to redistribute to the needy.

"It's our turn after you get your umaaaahhh, Mr Malfoy," Eldest Potter announced.

The host of the show gritted his teeth and took one of the empty boxes for himself. At least the talent contestwas finally going well. Even if the conversation did remain as mysterious as ever.

"I'm going to feed my umaaaahhh chips." Mad Professor announced as they exited stage left, staring in fascinated admiration at his empty box, and walking as though performing a dangerous balancing act on an exceptionally high tight-rope.

"Don't be daft. They can't eat chips. They can only eat fruit," Dance-Yourself-Dizzy replied, carrying her own empty box with equal care.

"Dad, Dad! How will I know when the umaaaahhh's awake?" Scorpius demanded to know.

"Uh..." he looked pleadingly at his lieutenant.

"Oh, they stop snoring," Rose said glibly. Merlin, she was good. If she didn't make Slytherin, he'd eat his hat, as the muggles said. Or the Sorting Hat, even,

"And they'll probably try to jump out of the box," Albus added gravely.

Draco started. Did they all know something he didn't? At least Eldest Granger was only playing along...or was she? He peeked cautiously inside the fifth and final box to make sure he _hadn't_ accidentally created a new wizarding species. Empty, thank Merlin!

Eldest Potter accepted – or, to be more accurate, snatched - the proffered box, and strode confidently to the centre of the stage. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He called into the crackling mic, although nobody was listening, the audience of four being far too preoccupied with the empty boxes in their laps, discussing how best to nurture umaaaahhhs. Which were a very strange species, by all accounts.

"They don't like the sun being too bright so you have to get them tiny sun-glasses." Albus was obviously an expert on umaaaahhhs. "And it's prob'ly best if they wear hats as well."

"What do they look like?" Scorpius asked.

"Well, it doesn't really matter, you can get sun-hats or witch's hats, or..."

"No, the umaaaahhhs."

"Oh. Bit like a very long worm or a very small snake. And they're green with pink and purple spots."

"Mine's blue!" Lily argued.

"Oh, that'll be a very young umaaaahhh then."

"Mine's called Snakey Snake. He told me," Hugo added.

Not that their complete lack of attention bothered James, who continued, undaunted. "Thank you, everyone, for voting for me in the Talent Contest..." He bowed and waved to his imaginary fans. "It is a great honour to be here today to receive this umaaaahhh, and I couldn't have done it without Mum and Dad, and Mr Malfoy and Scorp, and maybe Rose, but not with Albus, Lily and Hugo, who just got in the way all the time, like they always do, and, oh, yeh, I missed out Nanny Molly and Grandad Arthur and..."

Sometimes the Slytherin wondered if he'd been hexed by some dark force into wandering for all eternity into this alternate reality.

"Mr Malfoy." Rose suddenly said gently. She pointed above where a shadow was looming ever larger, while Trimblefeathers, sitting on her shoulder, seemed agitated about something.

"It's Bubo," Draco whispered.

Trembling, he exchanged an owl treat for the message attached to his owl's leg as a deathly hush fell heavily over the newly-created theatre. Even James had finally stopped congratulating himself, and Albus no giving his learned views on the nature of umaaaahhhs.

He was vaguely aware of his voice breaking as he read aloud, the words though spoken quietly, picked up by the conjured microphone and echoing all around the little auditorium. "Your presence is required at St Mungo's urgently."

But unaware, until she tugged at one of the sleeves she and Mad Professor were so very much attached to, that Dance-Yourself-Dizzy had crept up on stage beside Rose and himself. "Mr Mallyfly. I've got some flowers Mrs Mallyfly can have," Lily said, pulling daffodils out of her hair.


	7. Chapter 7

Many thanks to **Guest** for your kind review of Chapter 6. As no one else commented, I'm not sure if you were the only one who liked it. Oh, well, here we go...

.

 *****chapter 7*****

 *****Leading the Way*****

"I suppose you'll all have to come with me to the hospital then," Draco said reluctantly, regarding his motley group and the collection of shoe-box sized boxes containing the imaginary umaaaahhhs, now laid carefully aside as they awaited their play-date host's instructions. Not that they'd take any notice of his instructions, but they were awaiting them just the same.

"Well, we can't stay here on our own, Mr Malfoy," Rose observed.

"'Cos you might get lost by yourself." Hugo wagged a reproving finger.

Lost? The Slytherin snorted and bit back a scathing reply about, having been a Healer there for some years, he was perfectly capable of finding his way to St Mungo's on his own, thank you very much. Lost?! Oh, ha! He was already lost. If anything happened to Astoria...Fortunately, help was on hand. Whether he wanted it to be on hand or not.

"It's this way," Lily said bossily, tugging on the sleeve of his robe.

"No, it's _this_ way," argued the frizzy-haired little wizard – if, indeed, it _was_ hair and not some terrifying creature landed on his head - tugging his other sleeve in the opposite direction. Damn, damn, damn, why hadn't he rolled up his sleeves when he had the chance? Being spun round was not conducive to excellent navigational skills. Anyway, he already knew the way. Or thought he did. The unexpected spinning and blurring of his vision, although he persistently blinked back the ever-ready tears so as not to alarm the children, seemed to be affecting his sense of direction.

"Let go, you jerks!" Eldest Potter took control of the situation by yanking on Draco's hood in a vain attempt to shake off the clinging sleeve monsters. And almost strangling him in the process.

"Let go of _me,_ you nincompoop!" his victim spluttered.

"Hey! That's MY other name!" Hugo, _aka_ Mad Professor _aka_ Hugh Nincompoop, objected, and in the shock of hearing his specially acquired sobriquet being bandied about so freely, he did as his mentor wished and, without warning, abruptly broke off his grip.

Seeing his beloved pater stagger, Scorpius valiantly sprang forth to assist by snatching up the nearest item – his father's robe-belt - to prevent him from ignoble fall, calling for reinforcements as he ploughed into battle. "Grab him, Alb!"

The one thus named leapt loyally into action and obligingly caught hold of the other end of the belt with as much enthusiasm as an Auror-in-training desperate to earn his stripes by apprehending a highly dangerous criminal.

The assault from all sides was too much for the stressed-out Slytherin. Eldest Potter had somehow become tangled in the over-sized hood while Scorpius and Potter Mark Two had managed to tie the belt in a knot and now ran in circles around the lanky wizard, adding more knots in their attempts to undo it.

"Cool!" Lily released Draco's sleeve in order to gape in wide-eyed admiration at the impressive new dance move, which caused our hero to perform his second stumble and narrowly miss his second fall of the day. Or perhaps it was an impressive new dance move, as Lily suspected. This time, however, he stopped short of tumbling into mud, being far too busy spinning around to have time for it.

"STOP!"

At last! The welcome voice of Lieutenant Granger! Draco heaved a sigh of relief – well, to be more accurate, exhaled a light puff of air, which, as an unfortunate victim of the notorious Hood Choker, was all he was could manage.

"Let Mr Malfoy go!"

"He _IS!"_ Lily declared, following the dance step with enthusiasms.

" _Nobody_ cares about _me!"_

Everybody paused for a moment to look at Hugo, who must have been still reeling from the traumatic ordeal of having his appellation so blatantly stolen, for he sat morosely on the grass with Trimblefeathers on his head ( _obviously checking out second best nest in case Eldest Granger's hair_ _was temporarily unavailable in his future_ _scenario of settling_ _down with a_ _wife and family_ _, Draco_ _concluded_ ) before carrying on as they were before.

After the all too brief respite, the Slytherin was again tugged into his circle-dance by the ferocious Hood Choker and the terrifying Robe-Belt-Knotters while Dance-Yourself-Dizzy stomped nearby in accompaniment.

"STOP!" The wild-haired witch tried again.

"Can't, Rose!" Albus panted.

"My Dad keeps running away from us!" Scorpius breathlessly explained the trying circumstances.

"Helppp!" James pleaded, which Draco felt, and not without some justification, should have been _his_ call.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Despite being several inches smaller than her older cousin, Rose simply pulled James backward by his shirt, thus disengaging him from the ( _subsequently ripped_ ) hood, which had the further beneficial effect of freeing Scorpius and Albus from the belt's clutches.

"Phew, thanks, Rose! That hood was attacking me - like this!" James nonchalantly cast aspersions on either the item of clothing or the ex-Death Eater himself, he could have meant either, as he gave an over-dramatic performance of the rescue, staggering and swaying, and, for reasons best known to himself, clutching his throat. Which, as far as I am aware, had nothing whatsoever to do with his hands becoming entangled in said item of clothing, but who am I to question?

Draco bent to pick up his wand and dust himself down. And met Hugo's stern gaze.

"You have to stay with me 'cos you're gonna get lost all by yourself." Hugo was of the firm opinion none of these problems would have occurred if his friend's Dad had only obeyed his orders to begin with.

"He has a point, Mr Malfoy," Rose said. "You know what they're all like for wandering off and doing their own thing," she added, in response to his quirked eyebrow.

"Hmmph!" Having cast quick, easy spells to untangle his belt, scourgify his robes and mend his hood, all of which he could have done if the unhelpful helpers had not interfered in the first place, Draco charmed the belt into a rope, chanted a spell to extend it, and, pocketing his wand, turned his attention back to his difficult charges. "Right, you lot, listen up! I want you all to take hold of this..."

He scowled at Scorpius and Albus, who were congratulating themselves on The Escape - just _who_ had been the casualty here, he wondered? - while Dance-Yourself-Dizzy chimed in with her own exaggerated version of events, for it would appear she had been witness to their _"being nearly killed"_ several times.

Lieutenant Granger was quite correct in her astute assessment of the situation. The troops were already distracted and likely to behave unpredictably if not kept together. Well, there was no guarantee they wouldn't behave unpredictably when kept together either; in fact, the only predictability was that at some stage they would be predictably unpredictable. But at least together he and his lieutenant had a better chance of keeping tabs on them.

" _NOW!"_ He roared.

Everybody jumped. Each child looked at the rope and back at their host with great interest. He could feel the air bristling with questions. Questions. There were _always_ questions.

In the fury of the new dance, Lily had dropped and scattered and forgotten about the daffodils she'd promised to take to his wife. But their sad fate had not gone unnoticed by Draco.

He wondered if it was an omen.

 **XXXXX**

"What the hell is happening?" Ginny exclaimed.

"Draco is leading the kids here. They're all holding on to a very long rope and two owls are flying behind. Rose is the only one not carrying a cardboard box and..."

His wife rolled her eyes. "It was a rhetorical question, Harry."

"Oh! Right." Harry scratched the fading lightning scar on his forehead, which he often did when feeling sheepish. Perhaps it was a spell to counteract embarrassment or, then again, to judge by how proficient he was at it, it might have been a spell to ensure he kept up a ready supply of stating-the-obvious answers.

Hermione turned from the window, where she, Harry, Ginny and Ron had been watching so intently. And apprehensively. "It's going to be a shock for Draco. So go easy on him."

"Hey. I always do." Ron knew the advice was directly specifically at him.

"Ron, I realise you don't mean to, but..."

"I put my foot in it," Ron finished, locking his fingers in Hermione's and squeezing her hand. "Don't worry, 'Mione. I'll make sure I think before I speak. I know the news about Astoria is going to be tough on Malfoy."

"Draco," she corrected.

"Draco," he smiled. "It's just kind of hard getting used to saying it."

"It'll going to be tough on poor Scorpius too," Ginny reminded them.

Hermione nodded. "We'll help them get through it, though, Gin. All of us. I know Draco's still a bit wary of our friendship, with me especially, but the kids seem to love him. And Scorpius has built a very strong friendship with all of them, particularly Rose."

"Hope he doesn't end up marrying her," Ron was heard to mutter, despite his best efforts to guard his tongue.

"What I don't understand, though," Harry interjected quickly to keep the peace; "is why are all the kids except Rose carrying a shoe-box and why is Draco wearing a shoe-box on his head?"

"Nobody does." Hermione replied. "Astoria always said thing just happen when Draco is with the kids."

"Probably best not to ask." Ron unwittingly echoed Draco's own philosophy where Scorpius, Rose, James, Albus, Lily and Hugo were concerned.

And they stared once more out of the window at the rapidly approaching group...


	8. Chapter 8

For your very kind Reviews of Chapter 7, many thanks to:-

 **Guest**

 **nobodysperfect2133**

 *****chapter 8*****

 *****Holding On*****

Without Rose bringing up the rear to make sure none of the barmy Army went AWOL from the charmed navigational rope, Draco knew the line would have collapsed the moment it was formed. Which had been an extremely traumatic event for him. The world's worst Death Eater (ex) shuddered at the memory.

"But what if the umaaaahhh falls out of the umaaaahhh box?" Lily stared unhappily at the rope and back at the box, which apparently housed one such mythical creature.

"Question and solution are immaterial," Draco growled. Why the hell had he let himself be talked into giving "invisible umaaahhhs" as talent show prizes and, furthermore, conjured up shoe-size cardboard boxes to carry the non-existent creatures inside, all to mollify his highly demanding charges? "Because so-called umaaahhhs do not exi..."

"They don't like long journeys." Albus Severus Potter, self-appointed umaaaahhh expert, gave his considered opinion. "They get travel sick."

"Umaaahhhs don't exis..." The Slytherin was fast losing patience.

"So do I! I always throw up apple hating!" Hugo turned eagerly to Scorpius's father. "Am I an umaaahhh?"

"I haven't exactly established _what_ you are yet apart from not being human,"Draco said testily.

"Nah. We can _see_ you, Hugo," Scorpius pointed out. "And umaaahhhs are invisible."

"Oh!" Hugo's face fell. Nevertheless, he was a born optimist. "Well, I might turn into one when I'm five. And my Mum'll say _"where's Hugo?"_ and my Dad'll say _"I don't know"_ and my Mum'll say _"he might have turned into an umaaahhh"_ and my Dad'll say..."

" _Please,"_ Draco begged. Yes, begged. He had not a shred of Malfoy dignity left any more. And, worse, he didn't care. "Can you all _please_ take hold of the rope to ensure none of you wander off and as per our agreement of barely two seconds ago? I would like to see my wife some time this century."

"Sure," James said agreeably. "Don't worry, Mr Malfoy, we'll get you there safely."

Draco had his doubts about that. Although each of the children obligingly laid a hand on the expanded rope belt, it looked like nobody but himself and Eldest Granger planned to walk in normal fashion. Despite his reassuring promise, Potter Mark One was watching Trimblefeathers and Bubo flying above; Mad Professor was hopping excitedly while babbling to the wise umaaaahhh expert, who nodded wisely and occasionally stroked his wise chin in thought, which necessitated letting go of the rope at regular intervals, his other hand being occupied with an "umaaaahhh box"; Dance-Yourself-Dizzy had decided now was the perfect time for some light dancing; and Scorpius had kindly taken it upon himself to check the strength of the rope by playing a mini game of tug o'war in the middle of the line.

He pulled impatiently on the rope and was met with loud screams. "The umaaaahhs!" "They're going to fall out!" "They'll die!"

"You nearly killed my pet umaaaahhh!" Albus got slowly to his feet, clutching the empty box to his chest and stared at his mentor in shock and horror.

"How many times? Umaaaahhhs don't exist." The lanky wizard was losing the will to live.

"Well, you've really hurt their feelings now, Mr Malfoy," James chided. "They can hear, you know."

"Lids." A cool, calm voice floated up from somewhere near his waist.

"What?"

Rose shook her bushy head. "Lids, Mr Malfoy. Conjure some lids and spell them to stick on the boxes. And make sure you spell some holes in them too or they'll complain the umaaaahhhs can't breathe."

"But aren't we pandering to their whims a bit?" Draco whispered.

"Nope," the little witch said firmly, waiting, arms folded, for the order to be followed. He nodded. Eldest Granger was scarily wise and scarily always right.

The wand was raised, the spells duly done, the troops satisfied with the addition of lids to the boxes, and assembled in a nearly straight line along the navigational rope. They were ready to go. Not knowing what they would find on that pleasant summer afternoon until they got there.

He took a deep breath as they set off at last, reflecting on another summer afternoon not so very long ago.

 **XXXXX**

If any passer-by had happened to glance into that rose-scented muggle garden they might have smiled to see the two empty deck-chairs obviously awaiting occupants, and thought how perfect a summer's afternoon it was to bask in the sun. But where magic is cast appearances deceive.

Each chair was already occupied.

In one sat a tall, pale wizard with white-blond hair and sombre expression; in the other sat a pretty, dark-haired witch. A combined disillusionment/silencio spell hid them well from eyes and ears – though, if that same passer-by were to pause and gaze much more closely, they might have wondered what strange barrier caused small creatures, a bird or two, a shiny beetle meandering through the grass, the bees that came to pollinate the flowers, to stop abruptly as they approached the deck-chairs, and hasten away.

Yet they would not see the couple sitting together.

And it was far from from being a perfect summer afternoon. Oh, yes, it's true a benevolent sun beamed down from a breathtakingly blue sky, birds sang merrily, and trees were in full bloom. But the couple knew it was growing closer to her time and they would need the support of friends. Although only one wanted to admit it.

"I most certainly do not," Draco declared, "need the pity of Granger, Potter, Weasley and the Weaselette."

"Draco..." Tori sighed. When the inevitable happened they _would_ need Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny. Who else was there? Neither had family. Not to speak of.

Draco's parents had passed away and Astoria's parents and sister disowned her since she fell in love with "a cowardly traitor" though she tried desperately to contact them. Her two young nephews knew nothing whatsoever of her existence. That was, if the nephews themselves existed. She had, after all, only overheard a snippet of conversation while out shopping in Diagon Alley one day. Two elderly witches, talking of how there was a rumour Lady Daphne Troybowen _nee_ Greengrass had two young sons now, although which country the elusive and extremely wealthy Troybowens and the Greengrasses had re-located to remained a mystery.

Pleading, begging, offering to buy the two gossiping witches anything they wished for, no matter the cost ( _Oh!_ _S_ _uch_ _r_ _a_ _sh promis_ _es when the Malfoys struggled so in their little muggle home!_ ) elicited no more information. They knew no more, and they would tell her no more, even if they did, they said, hurrying on by, informing a heartbroken Tori she was lucky they didn't hex her husband and herself into oblivion, a sentiment, I am sad to say, echoed by the small crowd that gathered around them, for this was in the very early days of Draco and Astoria's marriage, and the Wizengamot still quite busy trying to pacify those baying for Draco Malfoy's blood over his part in the War.

So. There being no family to lean on, that left friends. Except there were none. Draco's fellow Slytherins had blanked him since the Battle of Hogwarts, for fear of being tarred with the same brush by association, while Astoria had grown up being forced to mix with those who shared the Greengrass family's dubious values of pureblood supremacy. Nor could they be too friendly with muggles; there was the wizarding code of secrecy to observe. And Draco's colleagues at St Mungo's, where he was training to be a Healer, refused to accept him.

It was a difficult and lonely path until they literally bumped into Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny and their respective offspring and a friendship - of sorts - began. Scorpius immediately became very firm friends with the offspring. Astoria very soon became firm friends with the parents, particularly Hermione and Ginny. It was Draco who was the "sort of". Of course he had long let go of his prejudice towards muggleborns but he hadn't yet let go of his pride.

"You know they'll be there for us," Astoria reminded him.

He scoffed. "I do not need their "friendship." The lanky wizard made invisible quotation marks with his fingers, as he'd often seen muggles do, but he still hadn't quite got the hang of the whole idea, and the gesture looked as though he was doing a bad imitation of a particularly threatening crab.

Despite the seriousness of their discussion, Astoria's lips had begun to twitch. Her husband could always make her laugh, and often, as now, without meaning to. Firstly, instead of relaxing into a deck-chair he somehow always managed to sit upright as though afraid the chair might gobble him up at any moment. Secondly, the crab claws imitation was highly amusing. Thirdly…well, thirdly…

Tori did her best not to laugh, she really did. She tried to think instead of the time they discovered the unwanted deck-chairs in their muggle shed, and of Draco becoming more and more annoyed at not being able to prize them open, nor could he figure out an appropriate spell, neither he nor Astoria knowing what the colourful mixture of wood and canvas was for in the first place. It was only the intervention of their elderly next-door neighbour's extremely amused gardener that solved the problem. Afterwards, as he was not at all happy by the muggle roaring with laughter at his futile attempts, he insisted every time they used the chairs they were very, very carefully returned to the shed without ever being folded down again. It was still very much a sore point – and most definitely not a laughing matter - with the ex-Death Eater.

"But they ARE your friends, Draco." She bit her lip. Oh, Merlin, she wasn't going to hold out much longer…

"I never asked them to be." Draco scowled at the sunlight filtering on to his face. He hated the hot weather, but the sun eased Astoria's symptoms, and so he frequently sat out in the garden with her. As long as they were invisible. Fortunately.

Because as he spoke he was rather preoccupied with tilting a very large, very pink and very pretty sun-bonnet further over his eyes.

The bonnet was once the proud property of their eccentric octogenarian neighbour, Mrs Thomas, who had worn it in her long-ago girlhood, but she had gifted it to Astoria. It was way too big too for Tori, however, and she had since acquired a stylish and rather fetching modern sun-hat, but Draco needed a hat, refused to go in a muggle store to buy one - and it was a perfect fit. As testified now, by his pulling on the pretty pink bonnet strings, and looking extremely pleased with himself when he succeeded in both keeping the sun out of his eyes and the heat off his scalp.

And Tori was gone.

To the astonishment of her companion, she suddenly made a strange gulping noise. Then she laughed and laughed and laughed, gasping for breath, tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks. Poor Draco caught and held on to his wife's hand for dear life, as both deck-chairs rocked dangerously in time to Astoria's rhythm, his obvious concern for their welfare and determination to remain sitting upright making the irreverent witch laugh all the more.

At last, Tori paused just long enough to gasp, "It's the...the..the..."

He smiled sheepishly, waiting for her to continue. His wife and son were the only people he could tolerate laughing at him without being annoyed and embarrassed and sulking for two weeks ( _as he had done over the friendly muggle gardener_ ). And as Scorpius was currently on a play-date at the Granger-Weasley home with the miniature Granger-Weasleys and the miniature Potters, Astoria had free reign.

"...bonnet!" Astoria squealed between giggles. "I wonder what the kids would say if they could see you now?" She added, drawing breath at last.

Draco groaned It was the Malfoys' turn to host the play-date next week, but it seemed he would be hosting alone. He'd hosted alone once before, when he, the Scary Six, a cat and an owl had inadvertently stepped into a time zone,* and it had been...An Experience. But everything was happening quickly now, and it was almost certain Astoria would be in St Mungo's by next week. She had made him promise he wouldn't let the children down, however. For some reason the Slytherin couldn't fathom, Scorpius's friends hero-worshipped him as much as Scorpius did.

He grimaced. "I know exactly what they would _do,_ at any rate. Scorpius would insist on trying the bonnet on, fail to see where he was going due to it dwarfing him, fall into the nearest river or down the nearest hole, thus requiring episkeys, scourgifies and at least one chocolate frog claimed in compensation; Eldest Granger would wish to experiment with complicated mathematical calculations regarding the size of my head in relation to the size of the bonnet; Potty-Head One, who, I might add, has a great future ahead of him as a ham actor, would perform a one-wizard drama about hats; Potty-Head Two would conduct an in-depth enquiry on the merits or otherwise of wearing head-gear; Dance-Yourself-Dizzy would do a "hat dance", and as for the Mad Professor...well, I dread to think what nightmare _he_ would have in store for me. It would no doubt involve swinging on the sleeve of my robe while pondering on whether sun-hats are called sun-hats because the sun wears a hat, and conclude with a demand we fly to the sun immediately to check it is not, in actual fact, a fried egg. The latter being a favourite theory he has put forward several times before," he added darkly.

"Draco," Astoria said gently, shivering as she felt a sudden chill. The sun was flitting through a cluster of clouds that had crept silently overhead to blot the perfect summer sky, casting shadows, stealing the sun's tender warmth. "Don't you think it would be nice to call them all by their first names? Like Scorpius?"

"I _do._ Well, by accident sometimes," he admitted. First names seemed unimportant in Weird World, as none of them minded nicknames. If anything, they preferred them. Though he was damned if he was going to call his son Scorpiuso Hyperiono Malfoylytte, which, according to Potter Mark One, was somehow short for Scorpius.

"The children really like you so..."

"Merlin knows why."

"I do too."

He stopped squinting at the sky to arch a questioning eyebrow at his wife, but Astoria only grinned back teasingly. "Figure it out for yourself."

Despite being in the sun, she looked pale and drawn, and his heart twanged in sudden fear. She desperately needed rest now. Proper rest. Though she loved the kisses of the sun's rays, Tori never could sleep in the heat. And her condition meant she slept so little by night too. Dreamless sleep potion was powerless to work against ancient blood curses, no matter how many different mixtures he tried brewing.

The combined disillusionment/silencio spell was wearing off. There was that familiar icy tingling in the air that always preceded the fading of its magic.

Feeling colder than ever, Astoria shivered once more as they rose together to return indoors before any muggle happened to look out of their window and was scared out of his or her wits by seeing them materialise out of thin air. But her condition was making her clumsy now too and she stumbled a little, laughing lightly at Draco's alarmed expression when he steadied her. Always over-protective, he was about to remind her, as he frequently did, of the need to take it easy, but their eyes met and he never did utter the words.

For there was another kind of magic in the air and this magic would never fade. Astoria loved him and he would love her forever, no matter what the future held.

"Don't worry, Draco," she whispered.

But he did. Because soon everything would change.

 **XXXXX**

Draco might not have known why the children liked him. But certain others were privy to such knowledge. Astoria. Merlin, apparently. Me. You, perhaps. Oh, and Hugo.

He decided the most appropriate time to give forth a Hugo monologue on the subject was while holding on to a navigational rope, having lately persuaded his extremely reluctant care-giver to carry an empty shoe-sized box on his head.

Draco was quite prepared – nay, determined - to leave it behind. Hugo was scandalized.

"I am NOT carrying an empty shoe-box with me," the play-date host snapped, placing the box firmly back on the ground. "I have far more important matters to attend to."

Hugo screamed. "You can't leave the umaaaahhh behind! He's called Iggle!"

The ex-Death Eater rolled his eyes. "Three very valid points. First, there are no such things as umaaaahhhs. Second, what does him being called Iggle have to do with anything? Third, you originally claimed his name to be Snakey Snake."

"He didn't like it."

"How do you know he didn't like it?"

Hugo looked at him pityingly. "He told me."

"Yeah. Mine's Snakey Snake now," Scorpius announced. "He liked it so Hugo said I could have it."

Draco cast a scathing glance at his son, which however was wasted on Scorpius, who was far too busy half opening the lid of his box to peer inside like a proud parent. But he hadn't finished this conversation yet. His Slytherin stubbornness insisted on getting his own way. Even though he knew getting into debates with this lot was never a good idea.

He folded his arms petulantly. "Well, what if I don't like the name Iggle? What if I prefer the name..." He racked his brains. "Moonstar?"

"You can't have that, Mr Mallyfly. Mine's called that." Lily immediately and shamelessly stole the proposed appellation. "And it's a girl," she added in smug satisfaction.

"Can you pick a name for my umaaaahhh too, please, Mr Malfoy?" James requested. "I can't think of one."

"Merlin's saggy pants, batty beard and wonky wizard's hat, I am NOT in the habit of picking names for umaaaahhhs!"

James looked alarmed. "But that's way too long!" He wailed. "I'll never remember it all!"

"You could call it Mr Malfoy," Albus suggested.

Draco couldn't stand it much longer. He turned to the umaaaahhh expert. "And no doubt your pet umaaaahhh already has a name?" he asked in over-polite tones, his voice dripping with heavy sarcasm.

The sarcasm washed over Albus, who pushed up his imaginary glasses. "Oh, yes. it's called Scorpius's Dad. In honour of you discovering them, you see. So James's can be named in honour of you discovering them as well."

"You can call yours Mr Mallyfly, Mr Mallyfly," Lily suggested.

"No," Draco replied firmly.

"I think when I grow up I'm going to be an umaaaahhh," Hugo declared randomly. "Or I might be My Friend's Dad. Or I might be a kangaroo. Or I might be a clown, but I'm scared of clowns so I might be scared of me. Or I might be a..."

"Can you shut up?"

Hugo mulled it over for several blissfully silent seconds, lulling Draco into a foolishly false sense of security. "I don't think so," he concluded at last. "I think if I shut up I'd be deaded and I'm not deaded."

"This can be arranged," his mentor muttered irritably.

"That's shut down, Hugo, and it's dead," Rose corrected.

"Oh! My Friend's Dad, were you sad when it dieded?"

"When WHAT dieded – I mean, died?"

"I don't know." Hugo wished grown-ups wouldn't tell half stories and expect him to fill in the gaps. "Rose said it dieded."

Draco huffed in exasperation. Then a wicked idea came to him. "The umaaaahhh. The umaaaahhh died," he said maliciously. Ha, take that! Still got the Slytherin in me.

Hugo was unfazed. "You have to carry them on your head when they're deaded. I think." The little wizard did not reveal how and from where he acquired his mysterious knowledge.

"Yeah. You do." There was no way the umaaaahhh expert was going to admit ignorance although this tradition was completely new to Albus.

"Mr Malfoy, it's probably best if you..."

"I know, I know." Draco sighed to Rose. His lieutenant always gave sound advice. And anyway it was much easier to comply with the youngest Granger-Weasley than argue with him. Why the hell had he tried to oppose him in the first place? Hugo the Most Powerful would always win. Always.

The children gathered around their play-date host to watch with great interest as he placed the box on his head and chanted a sticking charm. "There! Everybody happy now?" He glared at Hugo, who cocked his head to one side in thought. "Well...I'm 'bit happy but I'm 'bit sad too 'cos the umaaaahhh dieded."

"I'm sad. It's always very, very sad when one of them dies. You see, the others think they..."

Draco switched off. He had to. Words like "species", "invisible" and "discovery" filtered through, try as he might to blot them out, as Potter Mark Two launched into speech mode. It was almost a relief when Dance-Yourself-Dizzy spoke up.

"I'm very, very happy 'cos _mine's_ all right." She danced a little jig to prove it.

"That's mean, Lily." James shook his head disapprovingly. "I'm happy, Mr Malfoy, but I'm happy because..."

"For Merlin's sake, I do not need to know the ins and out of everybody's emotional state. I don't need to know whether you're happy or sad, whooping with joy or deep in the depths of despair."

"Oh, that's good, Dad, 'cos I hadn't decided yet. I'm happy 'cos I'm with my friends and sad 'cos my Mum's in St Mungo's." Scorpius's voice, that had begun so brightly, tailed off despondently.

Rose had been quiet for a while now. She wiped a hand across her glistening eyes. "Which is why we need to stop pestering Mr Malfoy and go there right now."

The choked words as she flung her arms around her best friend had a far greater effect than all of Draco's attempts to chivvy his charges into some semblance of order. The scary beings looked at him in silent sympathy for a moment or so and then, to his astonishment, each laid a hand on the charmed navigational rope-belt.

"Right. Ah. We're...uh...off then…?" After giving his son an embarrassed half hug of support following Rose's emotional demonstration, Draco awaited the baffling babble that inevitably preceded everything the little witches and wizards did. But there wasn't any. They were even lined up in their previously allocated places.

He stared at them suspiciously, the uncanny situation causing him to fearfully raise _both_ eyebrows at Eldest Granger. It wasn't natural. It had to be a trick.

But it seemed it wasn't a trick. Although whether putting the youngest wizard directly behind him was a good idea or not would prove to be debatable.

"Ready!" Rose took up her agreed position at the back of the line where she could keep an eye on the others, and waved him on.

And so Draco took that deep breath as he headed the team, lost in thoughts of another summer afternoon of not so very long ago. Until a small voice broke into his memories, talking to no-one in particular and any and everyone who listened.

"I like My Friend's Dad. He says funny things. I like his funny walk. And he pulls silly faces. I like his silly faces. I like when My Friend's Dad falls in puddles and we play Nothing and I like when he takes us on a picnic and we pick daffodils and we have..."

Draco left him to prattle on. Annoying though it was, and resolute though he was not to become bosom buddies with Potter, Granger, the Weasel and the Weaselette, to know he had at least the backing of their offspring in all the uncertainty was oddly comforting.

 _*Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall_


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to **Guest** for your kind Review of Chapter 8

 *****Chapter 9*****

 *****Are We There Yet?*****

Once there was nobody. It had been a long time ago, when he was barely seventeen, when days were dark as death. He thought of death a lot back then because – well, because death was all there was. Voldemort destroyed and he, Draco, was swept up in the destruction, as though a great tide came and carried him into a vortex in the middle of a deep black ocean. Oh, he didn't kill. No, he was too afraid, too cowardly to kill. But he brought death and destruction into Hogwarts when he opened the door to the Vanishing Cabinet and _they_ came. They came because he was afraid of death, of being killed, of his parents being murdered, because he was too afraid, too cowardly to kill…

"Or brave," Astoria whispered. "Draco, to defy Voldemort and refuse to kill Dumbledore, even though you were terrified of what would happen if you didn't, that was brave. You have to be evil to murder. You're not evil.

That was the first time he began to think differently about himself. When he'd finally opened his eyes to realise everything he'd believed about pureblood supremacy was a lie, he'd thought it was too late for anyone to give a Knut about him. But it wasn't. Astoria was suddenly with him every step of the way. She pulled him out of the deep abyss of despondency and angry resentment he'd fallen into, encouraged him in his vague dream of being a Healer. Gave him belief in himself, happiness, even a son. He wasn't alone anymore. Except…

Scorpius's birth had weakened Astoria greatly. A blood malediction, a curse thrown at a Greengrass ancestor many generations before, resurfaced in Tori. Nobody knew how long she had left to live. She made plans for her demise just as Draco had for his own all those years ago. She wished for daffodils, she said, sunny and bright and filled with hope of spring and new beginnings.

Especially as there was another new beginning now. If the child lived...

They hadn't planned another baby and he was so afraid of losing his wife and new son or daughter, of being on his own. Astoria said he never would be, not with Scorpius, and, anyway, nobody knew whether or not Death was the end. There might be something after, she said, always the optimist, always calm and reassuring despite her illness, and they might be reunited once more. She might not die, she said, and, even if she did, he was brave. Remember? He would cope, and he would always have the help and friendship of Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. Which Draco insisted he didn't want. Nor did he want to see them now, running towards him from St Mungo's.

"Draco! Draco, it's happened!" Since when did he give Hermione Granger, now Hermione Granger-Weasley and Minister of Magic, permission to use his given name and fling her arms around his neck? And, what was more, to leave his shoulder a sodden mess of tears?

She took a step back, her eyes widening. "Why is there a box on your head?"

"Why is there a bird's nest on yours?" He shot back. "And why are you crying?" He added suspiciously. In his experience, Granger didn't cry. Pansy had cried. All the time. She cried for everything, from losing an ear-ring to being yelled at by Snape, to whining Draco was ignoring her if he happened to glance away from her for more than two seconds. But Granger? Granger never cried.

"Oh, my Mum's probably crying 'cos she thought I'd turned into an um-aaaahhh," Hugo supplied an answer of sorts. "It's okay, Mum. I didn't."

Hermione didn't ask. She only scooped her youngest child into her arms and held him tight, biting her lip to stop any more tears.

Small wonder their offspring behaved as crazily as they did. All four of the Gryffindor lot were staring at him. And the Weaselette was looking misty-eyed and gathering the miniature Potters around her. Which was a tough call, as the two eldest miniature Potters were struggling against hugs and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy had broken away to perform pirouettes.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"It'll be fine, Draco," Ginny said.

"Mate, we're right behind you." Scarface clapped him on the shoulder while his sidekick Weasel Features nodded his agreement, grinning inanely.

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes, well, I'd feel a lot safer if you were _in front_ of me."

"Don't be daft. You have to see Astoria first." Harry objected, totally missing the sarcasm. But someone had beaten them all to it anyway.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!" Scorpius was screaming urgently down from the top of the St Mungo's stairs that led to the private ward Astoria was booked into.

"You'd better come quick, Mr Malfoy!" His dark-eyed, wild-haired lieutenant had thundered down said stairs, her hair wilder than ever, and snatched hold of his hand to pull him to his as yet unknown fate. "Though I don't think getting there any quicker will help really," she added thoughtfully. "In fact, you're probably best taking it easy while you can. Being very, very, _very old_ , I mean."

Rose accordingly abruptly slowed their pace, almost toppling him over in the process. Maybe he should consider a spell for staying upright when around miniature witches and wizards, he reflected. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd nearly tripped and _did_ trip over Scorpius when he was learning to crawl. His son had had a habit of popping up in the most unlikely places.

"Rose! Leave Mr Malfoy to go see his wife alone!" Hermione said, aghast.

"No. No, it's okay," Draco's throat was suddenly dry. "The ward will have been spell-checked and cleansed of germs so it's probably best if they come with me." He needed some support. Okay, that support was highly dubious when they all had a talent for pulling him off his feet, but there you go. Or, rather, there you went.

The Gryffindor geeks were regarding him with astonishment.

" _What?_ _All of them?_ Even _Hugo?"_ Ron's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. But the children had more important matters on their minds.

"Nah. The um-aaaahhhs can't come, Uncle Ron. They don't like hospitals in case they get sick." Albus carefully laid the empty box on the floor in a neat pile next to the other abandoned boxes while Hugo took advantage of his mother's distraction to leap down and hitch a lift on Draco's sleeve.

Rose was frowning. "Well, if it's been spell-checked, I suppose that's okay, but words like bed are pretty easy. I don't think any of them can spell words like hospitalisation and anaesthetic and sanatorium."

"Hey! I can spell all those," James objected.

"Go on then," Rose challenged.

"I don't feel like, though."

"This way, this way!" Scorpius was standing at the top of the stairs, waving his arms as though signalling landing clearance to a low-flying aircraft.

"Scorpius, I _know_ where it is. I _work_ here," Draco said tightly, placing a hesitant foot on the first step, as did his army of protectors. They looked round at each other as if going into battle. He knew he should be hurrying, but he dreaded what awaited. The odd behaviour of the four most annoying people on the planet ( _if you discounted another six_ _less than_ _a million miles away, that was_ ) had already alerted him to the fact something was greatly amiss. And he didn't want to face what that something might be. Especially as Scorpius was running in and out of Astoria's room, looking flustered and pulling all manner of strange expressions. Maybe the longer he delayed it...maybe it wouldn't have happened….maybe…

"Rose. What am I going to find in there?" He whispered apprehensively, desperate times calling for desperate measures and accidentally using her real name. A sure sign of just how worried he was.

"Can't tell you." Eldest Granger shook her frizzy mane of explosion-in-a-mattress factory hair. He wasn't surprised Trimblefeathers was clinging on for dear life. "Probably best you see for yourself."

He nodded. At least he was being given moral support, There was the Scary Six. And Trimblefeathers. And Bubo was perched on his shoulder. The little witches and wizards had even left their beloved boxes behind. He only hoped the umaaaahhhs inside were alright and...Wait! He had to remember umaaaahhhs were only a product of Slytherin cunning and their imagination. Dear Merlin, the scary ones had gotten so far inside his brain he was even beginning to think like them now.

Except for Scorpius (who had abandoned the flight path to run up and down the stairs and breathlessly hasten them on, pulling on his hair so distractedly it now looked as though he'd been in the same mattress factory explosion as Eldest Granger, then run through a tornado as an encore) they all stood on the first step, Draco, Lieutenant Granger, Potty Heads One and Two, the Mad Professor and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy. Well, okay, Dance-Yourself-Dizzy was up and down between the first and second step due to a sudden dancing affliction, but that was by the by. They were ready. At one side were Eldest Granger and the two Potty-Heads and at the other Dance-Yourself-Dizzy and Mad Professor. They were holding hands and...Oh, God, they were holding hands! How the hell did that happen? Their powers were great indeed.

They took the second step. Dance-Yourself-Dizzy very skilfully took both steps three times, while hanging precariously on to Draco's fingers, and even though between them his arm was being weighed down by a non-fee-paying passenger swinging on his sleeve. He could hear the whispers of the Gryffindors behind, but he didn't care.

"He's not going to cope with it all on his own, though." Huh! What made the Potteress such an expert? He was Slytherin. Shrewd, resourceful, clever. He could cope with anything. Couldn't he?

"Why not? He seems absolutely fine to me." That was the Weasel.

He sneered a particularly impressive sneer at the comment, which was unfortunately wasted on wittering Weasley, as he had his back to him. It wasn't that Draco either agreed or disagreed. It was just that he always opposed anything Weasley, Granger, Potter and Weaselette did or said on a matter of principle. After all, he _was_ absolutely fine. Wasn't he?

And then he smirked a hugely impressive smirk (which again was, so very, very sadly lost to wizardkind forever due to him still being the wrong way round) when Weasley gave a pained yelp, obviously subjected to one of Granger's infamous arm slaps. Should've been a punch on the chin, then he'd _really_ have known about it.

"He is most certainly _not_ absolutely fine, Ron Weasley He..."

Draco prepared to sneer…

"He does _look_ okay, though, Hermione."

"For Merln's sake, Harry, don't be so dense! He may _look_ okay, but it's all a front." Damn, now he had to disagree with Granger, as a matter of principle _and_ disagree with Potter, as a matter of principle. Sneer or smirk, smirk or sneer, or go for gold and gag at their Gryffindor concern? This was becoming very confusing.

There was a sudden tug on his sleeve. Mad Professor was staring at him. "Is the wall being nasty to you? Shall I tell my Mum to shout at it?"

"Harumph!" He cleared his throat. "Such extreme measures are wholly unnecessary."

The scariest little wizard continued to stare at him, his brow furrowing, his mouth opening dangerously in question.

But they had reached the top, Draco, the two mini Potty Heads, the dancing-obsessed little witch, his lieutenant and his non-fee paying sleeve passenger. The door was already wide open, thanks to the whirlwind burst mattress on legs masquerading as a small boy with white-blond hair, who/which was running frantically in and out. And, unless he wished his companions to crash into the wall, Draco would have to let go of them to enter.

With a shudder of fear, he let go.

It went well. Somewhat. The sleeve passenger made a safe landing. The dancer soft-shoe shuffled to a halt. The two mini Potters were only saved from bumping into each other by the admirable quick reflexes of his lieutenant, obviously a future Seeker star, who pulled them both back upright just in the nick of time.

But still the lanky wizard hesitated to look into the room, terrified of what he might find.

Instead his eyes gazed beyond the bed where he knew his wife lay and to the window. A lazy summer breeze was floating leisurely inside and in the distance, under the blue gossamer-clouded skies, beyond the grassy slope and the blossom-laden trees, he could see a rippling river of gold.

The daffodils.

The daffodils, where they had stopped that afternoon and he had paused to watch his child and the child of his former arch enemies playing happily together, and to dwell on his own lost childhood. He might be much older now, but without Astoria he would be lost once more. Forever.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!" there was an urgent voice at his elbow. "What are we going to do?"

And there was a terrible cry. No. More than one. Several high pitched wails piercing his eardrums. So finally, because he had to some time, he looked down.

And that was when he saw…

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I'll tell you next chapter! :D


	10. Chapter 10

Many thanks to **nobodysperfect2133** for your very kind review.

 **A/N:** I realise there should probably have been some Healers present in this chapter, but as this is a fun story I'll take poetic licence and skim over the fact.

 *****chapter 10*****

 *****Final Chapter*****

 *****Three!*****

 _...And that was when he saw…_

...The daffodils

In a muggle style vase beside the bed. Bright as the sunlight, quiet as the dawn. Criss-crossed in a vase far too big for a sparse crowd of three, leaning with their heads down over the side as if they didn't quite know how they got there and were rather embarrassed about the whole affair, while the water they stood in playfully caught a sun-ray or two, or three or four, and sparkled merrily as diamonds.

And all around still, through the shouts and thuds and commotion, that terrifying wailing...

"Three, Mr Malfoy," Eldest Granger murmured. Then, much, much louder. _"Three!"_

Lily paused in the act of dancing a rather subdued, baby-elephant-stepped dance, in polite acknowledgement of current circumstances, to pout. "I'm not three. I'm nearly four. Hugo's _three."_ She wrinkled her nose as though being aged three was an affront to anyone's delicate senses.

"I'm not free. My Dad says I cost him thousands of galleons in shoes every year," Hugo declared proudly,

"Oh, I cost well more than that, Hu." Albus said smugly. "When I tell my Mum and Dad my theories about stuff they always say I'm priceless so I'm prob'ly worth _millions_ of galleons by now."

"Free. Who is really free?" James struck up a dramatic pose. "Am I free? Are we free? Are they free?"

A hand was pressed into Draco's, Small, trusting, needing reassurance. "Dad, Dad, what are we going to do?" Scorpius's question wavered with tearful anxiety.

Another hand was pressed into his then. This one small and trusting too, but reassuring _him._ Definitely Lieutenant Granger. For they were all gathered around the bed, the Scary Six and himself. And the wailing still assailing his ears.

In the midst of the madness, he could have sworn he heard his name being spoken. And, even more oddly, a chuckle. He knew he was definitely imagining things, however, when he heard Astoria's voice. "Well, I didn't pay for them, James, but I should imagine they're going to cost us heaps."

"Tori." Draco took in the startling scene and found his voice at last. Although it sounded so croaky, and his throat was so choked, and his mouth so dry, it was a miracle he found it at all. "How did it happen?"

Now, Astoria had known Draco ever since their Hogwarts days. It was perhaps unsurprising that she should have acquired some of his mannerisms. She arched an amused eyebrow with Malfoy perfection. "Draco, if you don't know how babies get here by now..."

"I do! I do!" Hugo did the jumping-up-and-down-waving-hand-in-the-air move that all the six were prone to, and which always baffled Draco. "The owl brings them."

"Don't. Be. So. Stupid." Lily pronounced each word with disdain. "The Wise Witch throws them down to witches from her broomstick and if they catch one they get to keep it. Wow!" A sudden thought struck her. "Scorpius, your Mum should play for Harpies like my Mum! I think my Mum must throw most of them back, though," she added, after a moment's reflection; "she only ever takes one at a time."

"You're stupid as well, Lily," James observed loftily. "That's not how babies get here. What happens is, a witch and a wizard fly on a broomstick together, and they..."

"Three!" The lanky wizard interrupted the peculiar birds-and-bees conversation to join in everybody's favourite chorus albeit in his croaky, almost-lost voice. _"Three!"_

He sat down on the bed as he spoke, accidentally pulling with him Scorpius, Rose and a certain little wizard, who mysteriously seemed to have once more become attached to his sleeve. And as three little Potters didn't want to miss out, they climbed on too. It was very crowded on that bed, but nobody seemed to be very worried about it, especially as the new father at least had presence enough of mind to cast an engorgio charm.

"Three," Astoria confirmed. She looked remarkably well and seemed remarkably relaxed for someone who had recently given birth, but then that was because...ah, wait! I think I'll keep that knowledge to myself for a short while longer.

Her husband could only stare helplessly, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, take his wife in his arms (if he could reach past the human traffic congestion, that was) or take the three brand new infants in his arms (if he could possibly reach _them_ ) or whether to say something profound or something romantic or something witty (the latter conundrum being somewhat immaterial, his almost-lost voice now suddenly being hopelessly lost). And his emotions! For emotions that had once been so carefully compartmentalised, it was a shocking betrayal. A rush of love, terror, confusion, pride, joy, awe, anticipation, apprehension...the list went on and on, and each and every one mirrored in his expressions so vividly that Hugo pondered on whether there was another wall His Friend's Dad wished to communicate with.

And so it was Astoria who spoke first, her words neither profound nor romantic nor witty either, but a question which I am quite, quite sure is rarely asked of a new parent: "Why is there a box on your head?"

Damn. He'd forgotten about the sticking charm and the ummmaaaah business. Thankfully, the Scary Six seemed to have decided to abandon forever their imaginary creatures. Casting a spell to transport the box into a corner of the ward, the Slytherin grimaced and made a circular motion with his hand to indicate the play-daters. Astoria's twitching lips must have given him courage anew, for his missing voice returned to the fold to ask, alarmed by their significance, "Why are there just three sorry-looking daffodils in a vase by your bed?"

"Magic, I think." Astoria smiled, giving him their special look. The one that meant so many things to each and took them away to their own special world. But weird world beckoned once more.

"Mum, Mum, Dad, Dad." Scorpius was still extremely agitatd about something. And thus another question rarely asked of new parents was posed: "What _are_ we going to _do_ about nicknames?"

"What?" Draco replied absently. Somehow he had managed to gather the three babies into his arms, and was beginning to crash down from the surreal situation of finding he had three instead of one, but he wasn't quite there yet.

"They're not having Hugh Nincompoop," Hugo said firmly.

"Or Dancing Lily or Sweet Circe." Lily was just as adamant.

"Scorpius brought the sorry-looking daffodils," Rose cut in, sensing a legal argument about the ownership of nicknames brewing.

"They were in my pocket and they're _not_ sorry for being there." Scorpius staunchly defended the daffodils with the same ferocity an over-protective parent might show towards their offspring. "And the new babies aren't getting Scorpiuso-Hyperiono-Malfoylyte as a nickname."

"Well, they're not getting Potty Head One."

"Don't think they're getting Potty Head Two."

The three new babies' high-pitched wails had become whimpers. Perhaps it was the comfort of their father's arms. Or perhaps it was the shock at their introduction to weird world.

"They have a point though, Draco," Astoria observed. "Two boys, one girl, three names. We thought we'd only need to choose one."

"Oh, I can take the two babies you don't want to name home to my Mum, Mrs Malfoy," Albus offered generously. "They're probably the ones she threw back to the Wise Witch anyway."

"The Wise Witch?!" James scoffed. "I told you, that's not how babies get here. What happens is, a wizard and witch fly on a broomstick..."

"I'll dance to stop them crying." Lily was as good as her word, elephant-step-stomping around the ward.

"I'll sing." Albus immediately burst into an ear-splitting, several-times-over rendition of Rock-a-Bye Baby, while Hugo joined him to launch several repeat performances as Baby falling noisily from the tree-top.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" James chanted, hands covering his ears.

"Calm down!" Rose roared.

"What about the nicknames?" Scorpius yelled.

"Tori, how did we get three?" Draco had to shout to make himself heard above the din, especially as the babies had decided to join in with increasingly loud whimpers.

"It's a bit complicated," Astoria shouted back. "Hermione reckons the curse must have been inflicted on my ancestor in the coldest wizarding winter on record, which meant all the sunshine I was soaking up was reversing the curse with counter-magic, and because the counter-magic was reversing the curse, the pregnancy was only ever showing one baby. She's really, really pleased for us. She said she'd always wanted things to work out well for you ever since Hogwarts."

" _Who_ said that?" Draco yelled, unable to believe his ears.

"Hermione!"

"Granger?" He cried in astonishment.

"Yes, but they're all genuinely glad for us, Draco."

He snorted. "That's all I need. Being best buddies with GRANGER, POTTER, WEASLEY and THE WEASELETTE!" his voice rose several syllables with each name and echoed around the walls.

"For Merlin's sake, Draco! Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Ron are perfectly nice people and our friends!"

"OUR FRIENDS?!" Draco thundered – and jumped as the four Gryffindors burst in, wands at the ready.

"Thank Merlin! We thought something terrible had happened, the way you were yelling for us." Hermione pocketed her wand, as did the others.

"Good to know you think of us as your friends at last, Draco," Ginny smiled, pleased.

"Yeah. We could have some great Quidditch games or something." Ron was making a huge effort for Hermione's sake.

"We could have some great Quidditch games or something?" The Slytherin rolled his eyes at the red-headed Gryffindor. As if that was ever going to happen!

"Sure we can." As usual, sarcasm washed over the guileless Harry.

"Ooh, can we all play Quidditch? I'm brilliant at it!" Scorpius glossed over the small facts he had never played Quidditch in his life, and was too young to fly a broomstick anyway, to show off his dubious Quidditch skills, which consisted of scrambling around the room chasing an imaginary snitch.

"And congratulations on being the father of triplets, mate!" Harry beamed.

The father of triplets closed his eyes. It helped a little. Not much, but a little. He had a sudden terrible, terrible feeling those Quidditch games with Granger, Potter, the Weasel and the Weaselette _were_ going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

"Everybody who does not belong in here, out!" Hermione ordered, deciding a Silencio spell would not suffice in the extremely noisy circumstances. "Ron, Harry, that includes you as well as Ginny and me. No, Scorpius, it does not include you; you and Rose are not glued together, nor are you the unfortunate victims of a sticking charm."

The brilliant Quidditch player – allegedly – and his best friend parted with heavy sighs and reluctance. Having tired himself out with anyway, a somewhat sleepy Scorpius climbed back on the enlarged bed, where his pater was still contemplating a Gryffindor-infested future...

 _...Seven people were required to form a Quidditch team. Another seven were required to play against that team. This would doubtless lead to having to be friends with their friends...and, as Scorpius made friends very easily, he would be friends with their children in no time, which meant even more play-dates. And, if the triplets made friends as easily as Scopius did, then…then..._

Oh, Merlin! His eyes flew wide open and he gazed out once more at the daffodils fluttering and dancing on the distant hill, at the thin blue line of the lake that bordered St Mungo's. There would be dozens – maybe even _hundreds_ – of little wizards and witches on any forthcoming play-dates!

"Draco. You're very quiet. Are you okay with us suddenly being such a big family?" Astoria asked anxiously, pulling an only half-awake Scorpius into her arms.

"It's not that, Tori. I was just thinking of how lonely I used to be. How I used to fly off on my broomstick for hours, feeling miserable and sorry for myself. And then you came into my life and loved me even though I didn't deserve to be loved. Now, I have four kids, entertain Scorpius's friends on a regular basis, and, well, I can't say I actually _enjoy_ being with little witches and wizards – way too stressful, annoying and confusing! - but the odd thing is, _afterwards,_ when we've all somehow got though the latest crisis in Weird World, and I can finally relax, I realise I _did_ enjoy it. But I don't want the Gryffindor lot know that or I'll be hosting play-dates for hundreds and hundreds of little witches and wizards." He added, to his wife's baffled amusement. "You know, Tori, their hair looks..."

"Golden," she supplied, looking fondly down at the new arrivals, each with their light dusting of hair. "I thought so too."

"Almost the same colour as the daffodils thank Merlin we never had to..." Draco caught a sob in his throat just in time.

"No. We didn't." Astoria tucked their now fast asleep eldest child into the crook of her elbow to stroke her husband's arm. "Funny you should say that about the daffodils, though. There's a muggle poem...Never mind. I'll recite it to you one day," she grinned, when he looked blank. Much as he tried to integrate into muggledom with Astoria and Scorpius's help and encouragement, it was very slow progress. Muggle traditions were tolerable. Sometimes. Muggle movies and TV shows were fine. Occasionally. Muggle food was acceptable. Mostly. Muggle music was okay. In very small doses. Muggle literature was the last resistance.

She smiled at the tiny tots gazing up at their father with the same wonder and fascination with which he gazed down at them. "Draco. Those play-dates with hundreds and hundreds of little witches and wizards. If they happen. I think you'll be the perfect host."

 _I wandered lonely as a cloud_

 _That floats on high o'er vales and hills,_

 _When all at once I saw a crowd,_

 _A host, of golden daffodils;_

 _Beside the lake, beneath the trees,_

 _Fluttering and dancing in the breeze._

 _Continuous as the stars that shine_

 _And twinkle on the milky way,_

 _They stretched in never-ending line_

 _Along the margin of a bay:_

 _Ten thousand saw I at a glance,_

 _Tossing their heads in sprightly dance._

 _The waves beside them danced; but they_

 _Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:_

 _A poet could not but be gay,_

 _In such a jocund company:_

 _I gazed—and gazed—but little thought_

 _What wealth the show to me had brought:_

 _For oft, when on my couch I lie_

 _In vacant or in pensive mood,_

 _They flash upon that inward eye_

 _Which is the bliss of solitude;_

 _And then my heart with pleasure fills,_

 _And dances with the daffodils._

( _ **Daffodils:**_ **William Wordsworth** )


End file.
